PR 3782 »°-n^ s~ I '3?/ , -X - ^!l» «-v ^ ^■i _, ''/fI'/;.-/,.Jl,:J.l'.,„a,JrrA'!'i:iJ iy,rf/, 4": S' ..^ 18) (i. THE^IFiE W. DR. EDWARD YOUNG. The pen of biogi-aphy cannot be better employ- ed than in the ser\ice of an author, vho displayed eminent genius and abilities in tlie cause of virtue and religion. Such was Dr. Young, the subject of these memoirs. « His father, whose name was also Edward Youn^, was Fellow of Winchester Collegi', Rector of Ilpham in Hampshire, and, in the latter part of his life. Dean of Saruni ; chaplain io William and Mary, and afterwards to queen Anu. Jacob tells us that the latter, when Princess Royal, did him the honour to stand godmother to our poet ; and that, upon her ascending the throne, he was appointed Clerk of the Closet to her Majesty. It does not appear that this gentleman distinguish- cd himself in the Republic of Letters, others ise than by a Latin Visitation Sermon, preached in 1686, and by two volumes of Sermons, printed in 1702, and which he dedicated to Lord Bradford, tlu'ough whose interest he probably received some of his promotions. The Dean died at Sarum in 1705, aged 63 ; after a very short illness, as appears by the exordium of Bi-- -shop Burnet's sermon at the Cathedral on the follow- ing Sunday. " Death (said he) has been of late walk- JKg round us, and makmg breach upon breach upoK A * LIFE OF us, and has now carried away the head of this body V'lth a stroke ; so that he, whom you saw a iveek ago distnbuthig the holy mysteries, is now laid ia the dust. But he still lives in the many excellent directions he has left us, Aoth how to live and how to die." ^ Our author, who was an only son, was born at his i father's rectory, in 168U and received the first part of his education (as hisTathea^ad formerly done) at Winchester College ; from wpnce, in his 19th year, he was placed on the foundation of New College, Oxford ; whence again, on tlie death of the Warden in the same year, he was removed to Corpus Christi. In 1708, Archbishop Tennison nominated him to a law fellowship at AH Souls, where, in 1714, he took the degree of Bachelor of Civil Law, and five years afterward that of Doctor. Between the acquisition of these academic honours. Young was appointed to speak the Latin Oration on the foundation of the Codrington l^ibi'ary ; which he afterwards printed, with a dedication to the Ladies of that family, in English. In this part of his life, our author is said not to have been that ornament to virtue and religion which he afterwards became^ This is easy to be accounted for. He liad been released from parental authority by his father's death. ; and his genius and conversa- tion had introduced him to the notice of the witty and profligate Dtike of Wharton,* and his gay com- panions, by wliom his finances might be impi'oved, but not his morals. This is the period at which Pope is said to have told Warburton, our young au- thor had "much genius without common sense:" and it should seem likewise, that he possessed a zeal for religion with little of its practical influence ; for, with all his gaiety and ambition, he. was an advocate for Revelation and Christianity. Thus when Tindal,. the atiieistical pliilosopher, used to spend much of his • At the instigation. of this peer, he was once candidate for a seat in Parliament, but without success, and the exjiences- ^Kte gaid by Wbarton.. DTI. YOUNG. 5 time at All Souls, he complained : " The other boys I can alwaj's answer, because I know whence they have their "arguments, which I l^ave read an hundred times ; but that fellow Young, is continually pester- ing me with something of his own." This apparent inconsistency is rendered the more striking from the different kinds of composition in which, at this period, he was engaged : viz. a poli- tical Panegyric on the new Lord Lansdowne, and a sacred Poem on the Last Day, which was written in 1710, but not published till 1713. It was .dedicated to the Queen, and acknowledges an obligation, which has been differently understood, either as referring to her having been his godmother, or his patron ; for St is inferred from a couplet of Swift's, that Young was a pensioned advocate of government : ** Whence Gay was banish'd in disgrace, ** Whei'e Pope will never shew his face, ** Where Y must torture his invention, *• To flatter knaves, or lose his pension." This, however, might be mere report, at this pe" nod, since Swift was not over nice in his authorities^ and nothing is more common than to suppose the ad- vocate, and the flatterer of the great, an hireling. Flattery seems indeed to have been our poet's beset- ting sin through life ; but if interest was his object, he must have been frequently disappointed : and to those disappointments we probably owe some of his best reflections on human life. Of his Last Day, (his fii-st considerable perform- ance) Dr. Johnson observes, that it " has an equa- bility and pi-opriety which he afterwards either ne- ver endeavoured for, or never attained. Many pa- ragraphs are noble, and few are mean ; vet the whole is languid : the plan is too much extended, and a succession of images divides and weakens tlie general conception : But the great reason why the reader is disappointed is, that the thought of The Last Day makes every man more tlun poetical, by 6 UFE OF spreading over his mind a general obscurity of sS^ cred horror, that oppresses distinction and disdains expi^ession." The subject is indeed tnily awful, and was peculiarly affecting to this celebrated critic, who never could, without trembling, meditate upon death, or the eternal world. The poet's theological system, moreover, was not, at least when he wrote this, the most consistent and evangelical : I mean he had not those views of the Christian atonement, and of par- doning grace, which give such a gloiy to his Night Thoughts, and would much more have illumined this composition. All the preparation he seems te have there in view, is By tears and groans, and never-ceasing care, *' And all the pious violence of pi'ayer," to fit himself for the Tribunal. Moreover, the pro- ject of future misery is too awful for poetic enlarge- ment, and makes the piece too terrible to be read with pleasure ; while the attempt to particnlaiize Uie solemnities of judgment, lowers their sublimity, and makes some parts of the description, as Dr. Johnson has observed, appear mean, and even bor- deriag on burlesque. Tliis poem, however, was well received upon the whole, and the better for be- ing written by a layman, and it was commended by the ministry and their party, because the dedication flattered their mistress and her government- — far too much, indeed, for the nature of the subject. Dr. Young's next poem was entitled, the Force of Religion, and founded on the deaths of Lady Jane Grey and her husband. ** It is written Avith ele- gance enough," according to Dr. Johnson ; but was " never popular :" for *' Jane is too heroic to be pi- tied." The dedication of this piece to tlie countess of Salisbury, was also inexctisabltj fulsome, and, I think profane. Indeed the author himself seems after- wards to have thought so ; for when he collected his smaller pieces into volumes, he very judiciously sup- pressed this and most of his other dedications. DR. YOUNG. 7 Tn some part of his life. Young certainly went to Ireland,* and was there acquainted with tlie eccen- trical Dean Swift ; and his biographers seem agreed, that this Avas, most probably, during his connexion ■with the Dake of Wharton, who went thither in 1717. But he cannot have long remained there, as in 1719, he brought out his first tragedy of Busiris, at Drury Lane, and dedicated it to the Duke of New- castle. This tragedy had been written some years, though now first performed ; for it is to our author's credit, that many of his works were laid by him a considerable time before they were oftered to the public. Our gx'eat dramatic critic pi'onounces this piece " too far removed from known life," to affect the passions. His next performance was The Revenge, the dra- matic character of which is suflSciently ascertained by its still keeping possession of the stage. The hint of this is supposed to have been taken from Othello ; ** but the reflections, the incidents, and the diction, ai*e original." — The success of this in- duced him to attempt another tragedy, which was written in 1721, but not brt)ught upon the stage for thirty yeai's afterwai-ds ; and then vvithout success, as we shall have farther occasion to observe. It has been remarked, that all his plays conclude with sui- cide,f and I much fear the frequent introduction of this ujinatural crime upon the stage, has contributed greatly to its commission. We have passed over our Author's Paraphrase on Part of the Book of Job, in order to bring his dra- • From his seventh Satire it appears also, thai he was once abroad, probably about this time, and saw a field of battle co- vered with the slain ; and it is affirmed that once, with a clas- sic in his l»and, he wandered into the enemy's encampment, and had some difficulty to convince them, that he was only an absent poet and not a spy, t Our author seems early to have been enamoured with the Tragic Muse, and with the charms of inelaiieholy. Dr. Ridley relates, that, when at Oxford, he would sometimes sbut up his room, and study by a lamp at mid-day. « LIFE OF matic performances together. The Paraphrase has been Avell received, and has often been printed with his Night Thoughts. This would be admired, per- hajjs, as much as any of his Avorks, could we forget the original ; but there is such a dignified simplicity- even in our prose translation of the poetic parts of scripture, that Ave can seldom bear to see them re- duced to rhyme, or modern measures His next, and one of his best performances, is en- titled Tile Love of Fame the Universal Passion, in Seven characteristic Satires, originally published se- parately, between the years 1725 and 1728. This, according to Dr Johnson, is a " very great perform- ance. It is said to be a series of epigrams, and if it be, it is what the author intended : His endeavour was at the production of striking distichs, and point- ed sentences ; and his distichs, have the weight of sollf! sentiment, and his points the sharpness of re- sistless truth. His characters are often selected with discernment, and drawn with nicety ; his illustrations are often happy, and his reflections often just. His species of Satire is between those of Horace and Juvenal : He has the gaiety of Horace without his laxity of numbers ; and the morality of Juvenal, with gi'eater variety of images."— Swift indeed has pronounced of tliese Satires, that they should have been either " more merrj-^, or more severe :'* in that case, they might probably have caught the popular taste more ; but this does not prove that they would have been better. The opinion of the Duke of Graf- ton, howevei', was of more worth than all the opi- nions of the wits if it be true as related by Mr. Spence, that his grace presented the autlior with two thousand pounds. " Two thousand pounds for a poem '" said one of the Duke's friends : to whom his grace replied, that he had made an excellent bargain, for he thought it worth four. On the accession of George I, Young flattered him Avith an Ode, called Ocean, to which w as pi*efixed au introductory Ode to the King, and an essay on Lyric Poetry : of these the inoBt observable thing is, that DR. YOUNG. 9 (he poet and the critic could not agree : for the "Rules of the Essay condemned the Poetry, and the Poetry set at defiance the maxims of tlie Essay. The bio- grapher of British Poets has truly said, " he had least success in his lyric attempts, in which he seems to have been under some malignant influence : he is always labouring to be great, and at last is only turgid." We now leave awhile the works of our author, to contemplate the conduct of the man. About this time his studies took a more serious turn ; and, forsaking the law, which he had never practised, when he was almost fifty, he entered into orders, and was, in 1728, appointed Chaplam to the King. One of Pope's bio- graphers relates, that, on this occasion Young ap- plied to his brother poet for direction in his studies, who jocosely recommended Thomas Aqviinas, which the former taking seriously, he retired to the suburbs with the angelic doctor, till his friend discovered him, and brought him back. His Vindication of Providence, and estimate of Human life, were published in this year ; they have gone through several editions, and are generally re- .garded as the best of his prose compositions : But the plan of the latter never was completed. The following year he printed a veiy loyal sei^mon on King Charles' Martyrdom, entitled. An Apology for Princes. In 1730, he was presented by his college to the rectory of Welwyn in Hertfordshire, worth about 3001. a year, beside the lordship of the manor annexed to it. TJfiis year he relapsed again to poe- try, and published a loyal Naval Ode, and Two Epistles to Pope, of which nothing particular need be said. ^He was married, in 1731, to Lady Elizabeth LeCi widow of Colonel Lee, and daughter to the Earl o^ Litchfield ; and it w as not long before she brought him a son and heir. Sometime , before his marriage, the Doctor walk, ing in his garden at Wehvyn, with his lady and ano- ther, a servant came to tell him a gentleman wished 10 L^E oe to speak to him. « Tell him," said the Doctor, « I am too happily engaged to change ray situation.'* The ladies insisted that he should go, as his visitor was a man of rank, his patron, and his friend ; and as persuasion had no eifect on liim, they took him, one by the right hand, and the other by the left, and led him to the garden-gate. He then laid his hand upon his heart, and in the expressive manner, for ivhich he was so remai4cable, uttered the following lines : ** Thus Adam look'd when from the garden driven, And thus disputed orders sent from Heav'n : like him I go, but yet to go am loth : Like him I go, for angels drove us both. Hard was his fate, but mine still more unkind : His Eve went witJi him, but mine stays behind.*' Another striking instance of his wit is related in reference to Voltaire : who, while in England, (pro- bably at Mr. Doddington's seat in Dorsetshire) ridi- culed, with some severity, Milton's allegorical per- sonages. Sin and Death ; on which Young, who was one of the company, immediately addressed him in the following extemporaneous distich : ** Thou art so witty, profligate, and thin, *< Thou seem'st a Milton, with his Death and Sin*' Soon after his marriage, our author again indulged his poetical vein in two odes, called The Sea Peace, ■with a poetical Dedication to Voltaire, in which the above incident geems alluded to in these lines, ** On Dorset downs, when Milton's page « With SiJi and Death provok'd thy rage." In 1734 he printed an Argument for Peace, which afterward, with several of his smaller pieces, and most of his dedications, was consigned by his own hand to merited oblivion: in which circumstance DR. YOUNG. U he deserves both . the thanks and imitation of pos- terity . About the year 1741 he had the unhappiness to lose his wife ; her daughter by Colonel Lee, and this daughter's husband, Mr. Temple. What afflic- tion he felt for their loss, may be seen in his Night Thoughts, written on this occasion. They are ad- dressed to Lorenzo, a man of pleasure, and of the world ; and who, it is generally supposed, was his own son, then labouring under his father's displea- sure. His son-in-law is said to be characterized by- Philander, and his Lady's daughter was certainly the person he speaks of under the appellation of Narcis- sa.— (See Night III.) In her last illness, whicli Avas a consumption, he accompanied her to .Montpelher: or, as Mr. Croft says, to Lyons, in the South of France, at which place she died soon after her arrival. Being regarded as an heretic, she was denied christian burial, and her afflicted father was obliged to steal a gi-ave, and inter her ])rivately with his owu hands ;* (See Night III.) In tliis celebrated poeru he thus addresses Death : ** Insatiate archer! could not one suffice .'* « Thy shaft flew thrice, and tin-ice my peace was " slain ; ** And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her ** horn. • I take the liberty of iiisei-tini^ here a passage from a letter written by Mr. W. Taylor, from Moiitp llier, to his sister, Mrs. Moiincliei, in the precetling year 1739, which may be considered as curious, and will bt* interesting and affecting to the admirers of Dr Young and his Narcissa: " I k!u>w you, as well as myself, are not a little partial tc '♦ Dr. Young. Had you been with me in a soliiai-y walk ihf " other day, you would have shed a tear over the n mains ol " his dear Narcissa. I was walking in a place calL-d the King'; " Garden ; and there 1 saw the spot wheio she was interi'Sl. "Mr. J , Mrs. H— — , and mjself, had some convcrsatioT ** With thfc gardener resp. eting it; who told us, that about 4.' " years ago. Dr. Young was here with his daughter ins ixe' 12 LIFE OF These lines have been universally understood of the above deaths ; but tliis supposition can no av ay be reconciled with Mr. Croft's dates, who says, Mrs. Temple died in 1736, Mr. Temple in 1740, and Lady Young in 1741. Which quite inverts the order of the poet, who makes Narcissa's death follow Phi- lander's t ** Narcissa follows e'er his tomb is clos'd." Night IIL There is no possible way to reconcJe these con- tradictions : either we must reject Mr. Croft's dates, for which he gives us no authority, or we must sup- pose the characters and incidents, if not entirely fic- " health ; that he used constantly to he walking backward and * forward in this garden (no doubt as he saw her gradually de- " dining, to find the most solitary spot, where he might shew " his last token of atfection, by leaving her remains as secure ^ as possible from those savagi s, who would have denied her a '' christian burial : for at that lime, an JLiighshu.an in this " connti-y was looked upon as an heretic, infidel, and devil. " They begin now to Vtrgt from ihtn- bigotrj, and :.lio\v iliera " at least to be n.en, thougii not christians, I believe ,) and " that he bribed the under gardener, beloiiging to his father, '' to let him bury hisdai-ghter, which he did ; pointed out the ' most solitary place, and dug ihe grave i he man, tlirough '• a pr vatt door, admitted the Doctor ai midnight, bringing his " beloved daughter, wrapped up in a shet t, upon his shoulder » he laid her in the hole, sat down, and (as the man expressed n\l)* rained tears '^ 'AVith pious sacrilege a ^lavt 1 stole.' " The man who was thus bribed is dead, but the master is still " living. Before ihe man died, they were one day going to " dig, and set some fiowers, &c. in this si)ot where she was * buried, ''lie mill said to his master, • Don't dig there ; tor, ^ so many years ago, 1 buried an Englisli lady there ' I he * master was much surprised ; and as Doctor Young's book had ' Hiaue mui-h iio;se in France, it led him to enciuire into the "matter: and only two years ago it was known for a certainty ♦that tliat was ilie pliict, and in this way: Ihere was an ' English iioblemau h^ie, who was acquainted with the go- ' vernor ot tins piace ; and wishing to ascertain the fact, he ob- * lamtd peiniission lo dig up the ground, whoe he found ' some bones, which were eNamiutd by a surgeon, and pro- ' nouuced to be tlie remains oi a human body : this, tliere- ■ lore, puts the auUienticity of it beyond a Uoubt."-'See EviUl* ! Mag. for 1797, p. 444. DR. YOUNG 13 tltious, as the author assures us that they are not, were accommodated by poetic licence to his purpose. As to the character of Lorenzo, whether taken from real life, or moulded purely in the author's imag;ina- tion, Mr Croft has sufficiently proved that it could not intend his Son, who was but eij^ht years old when the ^'eater part of the Niglit Thonglits was written ; for Night Seventh is dated, in the original edition, July 1744. For the literaiy merits of this work we shall again refer to the criticism of Dr. Johnson, wiiich is seldom exceptionable, when he is not warped by political prejudices. " In his Night Thoughts," says the Doctor, speaking of our author, " he has exhibited a very wide display of original poetry, variegated with deep reflections and striking allusions; a wil- deiMiess of thought, in which the fertility of fancy scatters flowers of ev'iy hue, and of evei-y odour. This is one of the few poems in which blank verse could not be changed for rhyme, but h ith ilisadvan- tage. The wild dift'usion of the sentiments and the digressive sallies of imagination, would have been compressed and restrained by confinement to rhyme. The excellence of this work is not exactness, but copiousness : particular lines are not to be regan.l- ed ; the power is in the whole ; and in the whole there is a magnificence like that ascribed to Chinese plantations, the magnificence of vast extent and end- less diversity." So far Dr. Johnson. — Mr. Croft says, " Of these poems the two or three first have been perused more eagerly and more frequently than the rest. When he got as far as the fourth or fifth, his origi- nal motive for taking up the pen was answered : his grief was natiu-aily eitlier diminished or exhausted. We stiil find the same pious poet; but Ave hear less of Philander and Narcissa, and less of the mourner whom he loved to pity." Notwithstanding one might be tempted, from some passages in the Nigiit Thoughts, to suppose he had taken his leave of terrestrial things, in the alarming U LIFE GF year 1745, he could not i>efraiii from returning again to politics, but wrote Poetical Reflections on the State of the Kingdom, originally appended to the Night Thoughts, but never re-printed vith them. In 1753, his tragedy of The Bi'otlurs, written thirty years before, now first appeared upon the stage. It had been in reliearsal when Young took orders, and was withdrawn on that occasion. The Rector of Welwyn devotf^l 10001. to '' The Society for the propagation of the Gospel," and estimating the probable produce of this play at such a sum, he pei'haps thought the occasion might sanctify the means ; and not thinking so unfavourably of the stage as other good men have done, he committee 1 the monstrous absurdit\^ of giving a play for the propa- gation of the gospel ! The author was, (as is often the case with authors) deceived in his calculation. The Brothers was never a favourite with the public : but that the society might not suffer, the doctor made up the deficiency fi-om his own pocket. His next was a prose performance, entitled, *' The Centaur not fabulous ; in Six Letters to a Friend on the Life in Vogue." Tlie third of these letters describes the death-bed of " the gay, young, noble, ingenious, accompiished, and most wretched Alta- mont," whom report supposed to be Lord Euston. But whether Altamont or Loi'enzo were real or fic- titious charact,ers, it is certain the author cf>uld be at no loss for models for them among the gay nobili- ty, with whom he was acquainted. ' In 1759, appeared his lively "Conjectures on Ori- ginal Composition ;" which, according to Mr. Croft, appear " more like the production of untamed, un- bridled youth, than of jaded fourscore." This let- ter contains the pleasing account of the death of Ad- dison, and his dying address to Lord Warwick.— *' See how a Christian can die !" In 1762, but little before his death. Young pub- lished his last, and one of his least esteemed poems, *' Resignation," which was written on the following occasion : — 'Observir.g that Mrs. Boscawen, in the DR. YOUNG. 15 midst of her grief for the loss of the admiral, derived consolation from a perusal of the Night Thoughts, her friend, Mrs. M jntague, propose! a visit to the author, by whom they were favourably received ; and were i)leased to confess that his " liu- bounded ge.nus appeared to greater advant;ige in ihe companion than even in tlie author; that the Chris- tian was in him a character still more hispired, mure enraptured, more sublim*:; than the poet, and that, in his ordinary conversation, " Letting down the golden chain from high, " He drew his audience upward to the sky." On this occasion, at the request of these ladies, the author produced his Resignation, above-mentioned, and which has been so unmercifully treated by the critics ; but it has, in some measure, been rescued from their hands by Dr. Johnson, who says, " It was falsely represented as a |)roof of decayed facul- ties. There is Voung in every stanza, such as he often Avas in his highest Aigour." We now approach the closing scene of our au- thor's life, of wbicli, unhappily, we have few [)ar- ticulars. For three or four years before his death, he appears to have been incapacitated, by the infirm- ities of age, for public duty : yet he perfectly enjoy- ed his intellects to the last, and even his \ivacity ; for in his last illness, a friend mentioning the recent decease of a person who had long been in a decline, and observing, *' that he was quite worn to a shell before he died;" " very likely, replied the doctor ; *'but what is become of the kernel P''''— He is said to have regretted to another friend, that his Night Thoughts, of all his works most calculated to do good, were written so much above the understanding of common readers, as to contract their sphere of usefulness : This, however, ought not, perhaps, to be regretted, since thei*e is a great sufficiency of good books for common readers, and the style of that work will always introduce it where plainer compo- sitions would not be read. IS LIFE OP A^nf^'^iTfiV^^/^'''T^^^ ^'"'"'^^ ^^ Wehvrn, Apui 12, 1765, and was btu-ied, according to his de- sire, by the side of his lady, under the altar-piece of that church ; which is said to be ornamented in a singular manner with an elegant piece of needle- work by Lady Young, and some appropriate inscrip- tions, painted by the direction of the doctor. His best monument is to be found in his works ; but a less durable one, in marble, was erected by his only son and heir, with a veiy modest and sensi- ble inscription. This son, Mr. Frederick Young, had the first part of his eilucation at Winchester school, and, becoming a scholar upon the foundation, was sent, m consequence thereof, to New College, m Oxford ; but there being no vacancy (though the society waited for one no less than two years) he was admitted in the mean time in Baliol, where he behaved so imprudently as to be forbidden the col- lege.* This misconduct disobliged his father so much, that it is said he would never see him after- wards : however, by his will he bequeathed to him the bulk of his fortune, which was considerable, reserv- ing only a legacy to his friend Stevens, the hatter at 1 emple-gate, and 100 1. to his house-keeper, with his dying charge to see all his manuscripts destroy- ed ; which may have been some loss to posterity, though none, perhaps, to his own fame. Dr. Young, as a christian and divine, has been reckoned an example of primeval piety. He was an able orator, but it is not known whether he compo- sed many sermons ; and it is certain that he publish- ed very few. The following incident does honour to his feelings : vvhen preaching in liis turn one Sunday at St. James's, finding he could not gain the atten- * ^^''V^*"^^* denies this circumstance, ami calls the poet's son Ills friend.~He does not, however, pretend to vindicate the c.»nduct of the youth ; but lie relates his rep; ntauce and regret, whicli is far better. Perhaps it is not possible wliully lo vuidicate the father. Great genius, even accompanied with piety, is not al wavs most ornamental to domestic iHe ; and the prose of ordinary occurvences," says Crett, " is beneath , tae qjgnity of poets. DR. YOUNG. 17 Uon of his audience, his pity for their folly got the better of all decorum ; he sat back in the pulpit, and burst into a flood of tears. His tuni of mind was naturally solemn ; and he usually when at home in the country, spent many hours Avalking among the tombs in his own church yard. His conversation, as well as writings, liad all a reference to a future life ; and this turn of mind mixed itself even with his improvements in gardening ; he had, for instance, an a cove, with a bench so well painted in it, that at a distance it seemed to be re^l ; but upon a nearer approach the deception was per- ceived, and tliis motto appeared : INVISIBILIA NOX DECIPICTNT. The things unseen do not deceive us. In another part of his garden was also this inscrip- tion : AMBULANTES IN HORTO AUDIERUNT VOCEM DEI. They heard the voice of God walking in the garden. This seriousness occasioned him to be charged ■with gloominess of temper ; yet he was fond of rural sports and innocent amusements. He Mould some- times visit the assembly and the bowling green ; and we see in his satu'es that he knew how to laugh at folly. His wit was poignant, and always levelled at those who shewed any contempt for decency or reli- gion ; an instance of which we have remarked in his extemporary epigram on Voltaire. Dr. Young rose betimes, and engaged with his do- mestics in the duties of Morning Prayer. He is said to have read but little ; but he noted what he read, and many of his books were so swelled with folding down his favourite passages, that they would hardly shut. He was moderate in his meals, and rarely drank wine, except when he was ill ; being (as he used to say) unwilhng to waste the succours of sick- ness on the stability of health. After a slight re- 18 LIFE OF freshment, he retired to rest early in the evening, even though he might have company who wished to prolong his stay. He lived at a moderate expence, rather inclined to parsimony than profusion ; and seems to have pos- sessed just conceptions of the vanity of the world ; yet (such is the inconsistency of man ! ) he courted honours and preferments at the borders of the grave, even so late as 1758 ; but none were then confer- red. It has, however,- been asserted, that he had a pension of 2001. a year from government, conferred under the auspices of Walpole. At last, when he was full fourscore, the author of the Night Thoughts, *' Who thought e'en gold itself might come a day too late," was made Clerk of the Closet to the Princess Dowa- ger of Wales. What retarded his promotion so long is not easy to determine. Some attribute it to. his attachment to the Prince of Wales and his friends ; and others assert, that the King thought him suffi- ciently provided for Certain it is, that he knew no straits in pecuniary matters ; and that in the method he has recommended of estimating human life, ho- nours are of little value. His merits as an author have already been consi- dered in a review of liis works ; and nothing seems necessary to be added, but the following general cha- racters of his composition, from Blair and Johnson. Dr. Blair says, iu his celebrated lectures : " Among moral and didactic poets, Dr. Young is of too great eminence to be passed over without notice. In all his works, the marks of strong genius ai)pear. His Universal Passion, possesses the full merit of that animated conciseness of style, and lively description of character, which I mention as requisite in satiri- cal and didactic compositions. Though his wit may often be thought too sparkhng, and his sentences too pointed, yet the vivacity of his fancy is so great, as DR. YOHNG. n to entertain every reader. In his Night Thoughts there is much energy of expression ; in the three first, there are several pathetic passages ; and scat- tered through them all, happy images and allusions, as well as pious reflections, occur. But the sentiments are frequeatly over-strained, and tui-gid ; and the style is too harsh and obscure to be pleasing." The same critic has said of our author in another place, that his ** merit in figurative language is great, and deserves to be remai'ked. No writer, ancient or modern, had a stronger ima^nation than Dr; Young, or one more fertile in figures of every kind ; his metaphors are often new, and often natural and beautiful. But his imagination was strong and rich, rather than delicate and correct." These strictures may be thought severe ; but it should be remembere And M ond'ring at her o~mi} : how reason reels ! O what a mhacle to man is man, Triumphantly distress'd ! w hat joy, what dread ! Alternately transported, and alarm'd ! What can preserve my life r or what destroy ? An angel's arm can't snatch me from the gi-ave ; Legions of angels can't confne me tliere. 'Tis past conjecture ; all things rise in proof : "Wliile o'er my limbs Sleep's soft dominion spreads. What, though my soul fantastic measures trod O'er faiiy fields ; or mourn'd along the gloom Of pathless Avoods ; or down the craggy steep Hurl'd headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool ; Or scal'd the cliff; or danc'd on hollow winds. With antic shapes, wild natives of the brain ! Her ceaseless flight, though devious, speaks her nature Of subtler essence, than the Irodden clod ; 28 THE COMPLAINT. Active, aereal, tow'ring, unconfin'd, Unfetter'd with her gross companion's fall. Ev'n silent night iwoclaims my soul Immortal; Ev'n silent night proclaims eternal day : For human weal, heav'n husbands all events, Dull sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain. Why then tlieir loss deplore, that are not lost ? Why -w 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 eartli Unkindled, unconceived ! and from an eye Of tenderness, let heavenly pity fall On me, more justly numbered with tiie dead. This is the desert, this the solitude : HoAv populous ! how vital is the grave ! This is creation's melancholy vault. The vale funereal, the sad cypress gloom ; The land of apparitions, empty shades ! All, all on earth is sliadorv, all beyond Is substance ; the reverse is folly's creed; How solid all, where change shall be no more ! Tills is tlie bud of being, the dim dawn, The twilight of our day, the vestibule : Life's theatre as yet is shut, and Death, Strong Death, alone can heave the massy bar, This gi'oss impediment of clay remove. And make us embryos of existence free. From real life, but little more remote Is he, not yet a candidate for light, 'The future embi70, slumbering in his sire. j Embiyos we must be, till we burst the shell, | Yon ambient, azure shell, and spring to life, ; The life of gods, (O transport !) and of man. | Yet man, fool man ! here buries all his thoughts ; j Inters celestial hopes without one sigh : Pris'uer of eailh, and pent beneath the moon. Here pinions all his wishes ; wing'd by Heav'n To fly at infinite ; and reach it there, AVhere seraphs gather immortality. Oil life's fair tree, fast by the throne of God. NIGHT FIRST. 29 Wliat golden joys ambrosial clust'ring glow In His full beam, and rijien for the just. Where momentary ages are no more ! Where Time, and Pain, and Chance, and Death ex- pire ! And is it in the flight of threescore years. To push eternity from human thought, And smother souls immortal in the dust ? A soul immortal, spendmg all her fires, Wastuig her strength in strenuous idleness. Thrown into tumult, raptur'd, or alarm'd, At aught this scene can threaten, or indulge, Resembles ocean into tempest wrought, To waft a feather or to drown a fly. Where falls this censure r It o'erwhelms myself How was my heart inorusted by the world ! O how self-fettered was my gi'ov'ling soul I How, like a worm, was I wrapt round and round In silken thought, whicli reptile Fancy spun, 'Till darken'd Reason lay quite clouded o'er With soft conceit of endless comfort AeJ'e, Nor yet put forth her wings to reach the skies t J\7§-/jf- visions may befriend (as sung above :) Our tvaking dreams arc fatal : how I dreamt Of things impossible I (could sleep do more ?) Of joys perpetual, in pei-petual change ! Of stable pleasures on the tossing wave ! Eternal sunshine in the storms of life ! How richly were my noontide trances hung W^ith goi-geous tapestries of pictur'd joys ! Joy behind joy, in endless perspective ! 'Till at Death's toll, whose i-estless iron tongue Calls daily for his millions at a meal, Starting, I woke, and found myself undone. Where's now my phi-enzy's pompous furniture ■ The cob-iveb'd cottage, with its ragged wall Of mould'ring mud, is royalty to me ! The fipider^s most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie On earthly bliss ; it breaks at ev'ry breeze. O ye bless'd scenes o^ permanent delight! 30 THE COMPLAINT. Full, above measure ! lasting, beyond bound ! Al perpetvity of bliss is bliss. Could you, so rich in rapture, fear an end, That ghastly thought would drink up all youi' joy, \nd quite unparadise the realms of light ? safe are you lodg'd above these rolling spheres ; The baleful influence of whose giddy dance 5heds sad \'icissitude on all beneath. Here teems with revolutions e>'*ry hour ; Vnd rarely for the better ; or the best, VIore mortal than the commoii births of fate, lliach moment has its sickle, emulous )f time's enormous scythe, Avhose ample sweep strikes emyjircs fi-om the root ; each mome7it plays iis little Aveapon in the narrower sphere )f sweet domestic comfort, and cuts down Che fairest bloom of sublunary bliss. Bliss ! sublunaiy bliss '.—proud words, and vain ! mplicit treason to divine decree ! V. bold invasion of the rights of heav'n ! clasp'd the phantoms, and I found tliem air. ) had I weigh'd it ere my fond embrace, Vhat darts of agony had miss'd my heart ! Death ! great proprietor of all ! 'tis thine ^o tread out empire, and to quench the stars. "he sun himself by thy permission shines, Lud, one day, thou shalt pluck him from his sphere. miid such mighty plunder, \\hy exhaust "hy partial qui\;pr on a mark so mean ? Vhy thy peculiar rancour wreak'd on me ? iisatiate archer ! could not one suffice \ ^hy shaft flew thrice ; and thrice my peace was slain ; ind thrice, ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her hom. ) Cynthia ! why so pale ? dost thou lament "hy Avretched neigbbour P gi'ieve to see thy wheel )f ceaseless change outwhirrd in human life ? low wanes my borrorj'd bliss ! from Fortwie's smile, 'recarious courtesy '. not Virtue's sure, elf-giv'n, salary ray of sound delight. In ev'ry vary'd posture, place, and hour, NIGHT FIRST. 31 How vidow'd ev'ry thought of ev'ry joy ! Thought, busy thought ! too busy for my peace ! Through the dark postern of time long elaps'd, Led softly, by the stillness of the night. Led, like a murd'rer (and such it proves !) Strays (wretched rover!) o'er the pleasing />nsf .• In quest of wretchedness, perversely strays : And finds all desert no'cv ; 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 e>''ry pleasui'e pains me to the heart.' Yet why complain ? or why complain for one .' Hangs out the sun his lustre but for me. The single man ? are 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 woman born. Not more the children, than sure heirs of pain. War, famine, iiest, volcano, storm, and fire. Intestine broils, Oppression, with her heart Wrapt up in triple brass, besieg'd mankind : God's linage, disinherited of day. Here plung'd in mines, foi-gets a sun w-as made ; There beings deathless as their haughty lord. Are hammer'd to the galhng oar for life ; And plough the winter's wave, and reap despaii* : Some, for hard masters, broken under arms. In battle lopt away, with half their limbs, Beg bitter bread, through realms their valour sa\'*d, If so the tyrant, or his nainions, doom : Want, and incurable disease (fell paii'!) On hopeless multitudes remorseless seize At once ; and make a refuge of the gi-ave : How gi'oaning hospitals eject their dead ! "Wliat nimibers gi'oan for sad admission thera ! 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 pleasui-e ! since in pains 32 THE COMPLAINT. You inie more mcJish visits, visit here, And breathe from yom- debaxicli ; give, and reduce Surfeit's dominion o'er you : But so gi'eat Your impudence, you blush at what is right ! Happy ! did sorrow seize on such alone ; Not Prudence can defend, or Virtue save ; Disease invades the chastest temperance ; And punisliment the guiltless ; and alai'm Thro' thickest shades pursues the fond of peace ; IMan's caution often into danger turns, And his guard falling, crushes him to death. Not Happiness itself makes good her name ; Our very wishes .dve us not our Avish ; How distant oft the thing we dote on most. From that for which Ave dote, felicity ! The smoothest course of nature has its pains, And truest friends, through error, Avound our rest ; Without misfortune, Avhat calamities ! And what hostilities, Avithout 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 hoAV small of the terraqueous globe Is tenanted by man ! the rest a -timste. Rocks, 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 Tf'oe's wide empire ; a\ here deei^ troubles toss ; Loud sorrows IiomI ; envenom'd passions bite ; Ravenous calamities our vitals seize. And threat'ning Fate Avide-opens to devour. What then am I, Avho sorrow for myself? In age, in infancy, from others' aid Is all our hope ; to teach us to be kind. That, Nature's j?r5^, last lesson to mankind : The selfish heart deserves the pain it feels ; More gen'rous sorroAv, Avhile it sinks, exalts. And conscious Aii-tue mitigates the pang. Nor virtue, nxoix thaa Prudence, bids me give NIGHT FIRST. 3:3 Swol'n thought a second channel ; who divide. They a\ oaken too, the torrent of their grief: .Take then, O workl, thy much-indebted tear. Xow sad a sight is human ha]jpiness To tliose whose thought can pierce lieyond an hour ! thou ! whate'er thou art, whose heait exults ? Would' St thou I should congratulate thy fate ? 1 know thou would'st ; thy iiride demands it from. me. I.et thy pride pardon Avhat thy nature needs. The salutary censiu-e of a friend. Thou happy ivretch ! by blindness thou art bless'd ; By dotage dandled to perpetual smiles. , Know, smiler ! at thy peril art thou pleas'd ; Thy pleasure is the promise of thy pain. JMlsforUine^ 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 distress. LoRKXzo, Fortune makes her court to tliee ; Thy fond heart dances, while the Siren sings. Dear is thy Avelfare ; think me not unkind ; I would not damp, but to secure thy joys : Think not that fear is sacred to the storm : Stand on thy guard against the smiles of fate. Is heav'n tremendous in its frowns ? most sure ; And in its favours formidable too : Its favours here are trials, not rewai"ds ; A call to duty, not discharge from care ; And should alarm us, full as mucli as Avoes Awake us to their cause, and consequence; [O'er our scann'd conduct give a jealous eye,] And make us tremble, Aveigh'd with our desert ; Awe Nature's tumult, and chastise her joys. Lest while Ave clasp, Ave kill them ; nay, invert To Avorse than simple miser}', their charms : Revolted joys, like foes in civil Avar, Like bosom-friendships to resentment sour'd. With rage euA'enom'd rise against our peace. BeAvare Avhat earth calls happiness ; beware All joys, but joys that never can expire : Who builds on loss than an immortal base, B '2 34 THE COMPLAINT. Fond as he seems, condemns his joys to death. Mine dy'd Avith thee. Philander ! thy last sigh Dissolv'd the charm ; the disenchanted earth Lost all her lustre. Where her glitt'ring tow'rs ? Her golden mountains, where ? 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 dai'ling hope so near (Long-labour'd prize !) O how ambition flush'd Thy gloAving cheek ! Ambition truly great. Of virtuous praise : Death's subtle seed within, (Sly, treach'rous miner !) working in the dark, Smil'd at thy well-concerted scheme, and beckon'd The worm to riot on that rose so red, L^nfaded ere it fell ; one moment's prey ! Man's foresight is conditimiallii wise ; Lorenzo ! wisdom into folly turns Oft, the first instant, its idea fair To lab'ring thouglit is born. How dim our eye ! The present moment terminates our sight ; Clouds thick as those on doomsday, drown the ?iext/ AVe penetrate, we prophesy in vain. Time is dealt out by particles ; and each, E're mingled m ith the streaming sands of life, By Fate's inviolable oath is sa\ orn Deep silence, " Where eternity begins." By nature's law, v hat may be, may be ;zow : There's no prerogative in human hours. In human lieavts -»vbat bolder thought can rise. Than man's pivsumptiou on to-morrow's dawn .'' A\niere is to-moi-row .■' In another world. For numbers this is certain ; the reverse Is sure to none ; and yet on this perhaps, This peradvenUtre, infamous for lies. As on a rock of adamant Ave build Our mountain-hopes ; spin out eternal schemes, .As Ave the fatal sisters could out-sjjin. And, big with life's futurities, expire. Not. ev'n Philani)>:r had bespoke his shroud ; . Kor had he cause, a a\ arning was deny'd ; NIGHT FIRST. 35 How many fall as sudden, not as safe ! As sudden, though for years admonish'd home. Of human ills the last extreme beware, Be-ware, Lohexzo ! a sloiv-sudden death. How dreadful that deliberate surprize ! Be wise to-day, 'tis madness to defer; Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; Thus on, till M'isdom is push'd out of life : Procrastination is the thief of time ; Tear after year it steals, till all ai-e fled. And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene. , If not so frequent, Avould not this be strange i" That 'tis so frequent, tkis 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 ; tlieir future selves applauds ; How excellent that life they ne'er will lead ! Time lodg'd in their oion hands is Folly's \m\5 ; That lodg'd in Fate's, to wisdom they consign ; The thing they can't but purpose, they postpone ; 'Tis not in Folly, not to scorn a fool ; And scarce in human ivisdom to do more. AW promise is poor thlatory man. And that thro' ev'vy stage : when young, indeed. In full content, we sometimes nobly rest, Unanxious for onrselves ; and oidy wish. As duteous sons, our fath-ers wei-e more wise : At thirty man suspects himself a fool ; Knotvs it &t forty, and reforms his plan ; At 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 alarn^ing shock of fate 50 THE COMPLAINT. Strikes thro' their wounded hearts the sudden dread ; But then* hearts wounded, like the wounded air. Soon close ; where past the shaft, no trace is found ; As from the 7vi?ig- no scar the sky retains ; The parted wave no furrow from the keel ; So dies in human hearts the thoug;ht of death : E\''n with the tender tear which Nature sheds O'er those we love, we droj) it in their grave. TJan I foi-get Philander'/ That wei-e strange ; my full heart ! but should I give it vent, The longest night, though longer far, MOidd fail. And the lark listen to my midnight-%(m^. The sprightly larlc's shrill matin wakes the morn Grief's shai-pest tliorn hard-})ressing on my breast, 1 strive, witli wakeful melody, 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 Mho thine excel, And charm through distant ages : wrapt in shade, Pris'ner of darkness ! to the silent hours. How often I repeat their rage divine. To lull my griefs, and steal my heart from woe ! I roll their raptures, but not catch their fire. Dai-k, though not blind, like thee, jSIceonides .' Or Milton ! thee ; ah ! could I reach your strain ! Or his, who made Mxonides our oivn. J^'Ian too he sung ; immortal man I sing ; Oft bursts my song beyond the bounds of life ; What, no~M, but immortality can please ? O had he press'd his theme, pursu'd the track, Wliich opens out of darkness into day i O had he mounted on his Aving of fire, Soai-'d, where I sink, and sung immortal man ! How had it bless'd mankir^d, and res<>u'd me ! COMPLAINT. XIGHT SECOND. ox TIME, IJEATH, AXD FRIENDSHir. To the Right Honourable the Earl of Wilmington. >V HEN the cock crew, he ^^•ept," — smote by that eye Wliich looks on me, on all ; that poAv'i* Avho bids This midnight-centinel with clafion shrill, (Emblem of that which shall awake the dead,) Kouse souls from slumber, into thoughts of heaven. Shall I, too, weep ? a\ here then is fortitude ? And fortitude abandon'd, where is man ? I knoAv tlie terms on which he sees the light : He that is born, is listed : life is war ; Eternal war with woe : who bears it best. Deserves it least. — On other themes I'll dwell. LoREXzo ! let me turn 7nij thoughts on thee. And thine on themes may pi-ofit ; pi'ofit there, Where inost thy need : themes, too, the gemiinr gi"Owth >f dear PHiLAjrDEn's dust. He, thus, tho' dead. May still befriend.— What themes? Timers -ivoti (Vrous price. 38 THE COMPLAINT. Death, Friendship, and Philander' s^7ia? scene : [Themes meet for man ! and met at e\^iy hour. But most at this, at midnight, ever clad In Death^s own sables ; silent as his realms ; And prone to weep ; pi'ofuse of dewy tears O'er Nature, in her temporary tomb.] So could I touch these themes, as might obtain Thine ear, nor leave thy heart quite disengag'd. The good deed Avould delight me ; half impress On my dark cloud an Iris ,- and from gi'ief, Call glory. — ^Dost thou moiuTi 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 endeai* our gold ! O Time ! than gold more sacred ; more a load Than lead, to fools ; and fools reputed wise. What moment granted man without account .■' What years are squand'red ! wisdom's debt unpaid Our Avealth 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, Ko composition sets the pvis'ner free : JEternity^s inexorable chain Fast binds ; and vengeance claims the full arrear. How late I shudder'd on the brink i' how late Life call'd for her last refuge in despair ! That Time is mine, O Mead ! to thee I owe ; Fain would I pay thee Avith 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, Lores^zo ? not For f^SscuIapian, but for mr/ral aid. Thou think' St it folly to be wise too soon. Yonth is not rich in time ; it may be, poor : Part Avith it as Avith money, sparing ; pay No moment, but in purchase of its Avorth : And what its Avorth, ask deathbeds ; they can tell, Part with it as Avith life, reluctant ; big - NIGHT SECOND. 30 With holy hope of nobler time to come : Time higher-aim'd, still nearer the gi-eat mavk Of men and angels ; virtue more divine. Is this our duty, wisdom, g-lori/, gain ? {These heav'n benign in vital union binds) And sport Ave like the natives of the bough, Wlien vernal suns inspire ! Amnseme7it reigns Man's great demand : to trifle is to live : And is it then a trifle, too, to die ? Tliou say'st I preach : Lorexzo ! 'tis confess'd. What if, for once, I preacii tliee quite awake ? Who wants amnsement in the flame of battle ! Is it not treason to the soul immortal. Her foes in arms, eternity the prize ? Will toys amuse, vhen med'cines cannot cure ? XVhen spirits ebb, when life's enchanting scenes Their lustre lose, and lessen in our sight. As lands, and cities Avith their glitt'ring spires, 'J'o the poor shatter'd bark, by sudden storm l-hroAvn oft' to sea, and soon to perish tliere ; Will toys amuse ? — No : thj-ones Avill then be toys, And eai'th and skies seem dust upon the scale. Redeem Ase time ?— its loss avc dearly buy. '\Vhat pleads LoiiExzo for his high-priz'd sports ? He pleads Time's nnm'rous blanks ; he loudly pleads The straAv-like trifes on life's common stream. From Avhom those blanks and tvijlest but from tliee ? No blank, no trifle, Nature made, or meant. Virtue, ov purposed yirtne, still be thine : 17iis cancels thy complaint at once ; this leaves In act no trifle, and no blank in ti7}w •• This greatens, fills, immortalizes all ; This, the bless'd art of turning all to gold ; This, the good heart's prerogatiAc to raise A royal tribute from the poorest hours : Immense revenue ! ev'ry moment pai/s. If nothing more than purpose in thy povi-'r. Thy purpose firm, is equal to the deed : Who does the best his circumstance allows. Does Avell, acts nobly ; vmgels could no mox-e. Our outward act, indeed, admits restraint ; 40 THE COMPLAINT. 'Tis not in things o'er thought to domineer. Guard well thy thought ; our thoughts are heard in heav'n. On all-important Time, through ev'ry age. Though much, and warm, the uise have urg'd ; the man Is yet unhorn, Avho duly weighs an hour. " I've lost a day" — ^the prince Avho nobly cry'd. Had been an emperor without his crown ; Of Rome ? say, rather, lord of human race ; He spoke, as if deputed by mankind. So should all speak : so Reason speaks in all. From the soft whispers of that god in man, AVliy fly to folly, why to frenzy fly For rescue from the blessings we possess ? Time, tlie supreme ! Time is eternity ; Pregnant Avith all eternity can give ; Pregnant with all that makes archangels smile ; Who murders Time, he crushes in the biith 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 speed. And whirl us (happy riddance !) from ourselves. Ai't, brainless Art ! our furious charioteer (For JWUxire's voice xmstifled would recal) Ih'ives headlong tow'rds the precipice of (leflth ; Death, most our di'cad ; death thus more dreadful made. O what a riddle of absurdity ! Leis^ire is pain ; takes off our chariot-Avheels ; How heavily we drag the load of life ! Bless'd leisure is our curse : like that of Caiii, It makes us wander ; wander earth around To fly that tyrant. Thought. As Atlas groan'd The world beneatli, we gi-oan beneath an hour. We ciy for mercy to the next amusement ; NIGHT SECOND. 41 Tlie next amusement mortgages our fields ; Slight inconvenience ! prisons hardly frown. From hateful Time, if prisons set us free. Yet when Death kindly tenders us relief, We call him cruel ; yeai's to moments shrink. Ages to years. The telescope is turn'd To man's false optics Tfrom his folly false ;) Time, in advance, behind him hides his wings. And seems to creep, decrepid with his age : Behold him, when past by ; what then is seen Rut his broad pinions swifter than the winds ? And all mankind, in contradiction strong, , Rueful, aghast ! cry out on his career. Leave to thy foes these errors, and these ills ; To nature just, their cmise and C2ire explore. Not short heav'n's bounty, boundless our expense % No niggard, nature ; men are prodigals. [As bold Atphonsns threaten'd in his pride. We throw away our suns, as raa the centre ; c)*awljiig in the dust ; Dismounted ev'ry gi-eat and glorious aim ; Embruted ev^iy faculty divine ; Heart -burj'd in the rubbish of the world.— The world, that gulph of souls, immortal souls. Souls elevate, angelic, wing'd with fire To reach the distant iikies, and tiiumph there On Thrones, which shall not mourn tbeir masters chang'd ; Though we from earth ; ethereal, they that fell. Such veneration due, O man ! to man. Who venerate themselves, the world despise. For what, gay friend ! is this escutcheon'' d world, Wliich hangs out death in one eternal night .'' A night, that glooms us in the noon-tide ray. And wraps our thought, at banquets, in the shroud. Life's little stage is a small eminence, Inch-high the gi-ave above ; that home of man, Where dwells the multitude ; we gaze around ; We read their monuments ; we sigh ; and while We sigh, we sink ; and are what we deplor'd ; Lamenting, or lamented, all our lot ! Is Death at distance ? No : He has been cax thcc And giv'n sure earnest of his final -blow. NIGHT SECOND. 47 1 hose hours, wljich lately smil'd, where are tlxey now ? Pallid to thought, and ghastly ! drown'd, alldrown'd In that gi-eat deep, which no'thing disembogues ! And dying, they bequeath'd thee small renown. The rest are on the wing : How, fleet their flight ! Already has the fatal ti-ain took fire ; A moment, and the world's blown up to tliee ; The sun is darkness, and the stars are dust. 'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours ; And ask them, what report they bore to heav'n ; And how^ they might have borne more welcome new 3. Their answers form what men experience call ; lixinscbm^s friend, her best; if not, worst foe. O reconcile them ! Kind experience ci*ies, " There's nothing hei-e, but what as nothing weighs ; ** The more our joy, the more we know it vain ; *♦ And by success, are tutor'd to despau"." Nor is it only thus, but must be so. Who knows not this, thougli gi-ey, is still a child. Loose then from earth the gi*asp of fond desire. Weigh anchor, and some happier clime explore. Art thou so moor'd thou canst not disengage. Nor give thy thoughts a ply to future scenes ? Since, by lifers passing breath, blown up from earth, Light, as the summer's dust, we take in air A moment's giddy flight, and fall again ; Join the dull mass, increase the trodden soil. And sleep 'till eartli herself shall be no more. Since then (as Emmets, their small woi-ld o'er- thrown) We, sore-amaz'd, from out eaiili's ruins crawl. And rise to fate extreme of foul or fair. As man's own choice (controller of the skies !) As man's despotic will, perhaps wie hour, (O how omnipotent is time !) decrees ; ohould not each warning give a strong alarm ? Warning, far less than tliat of bosom torn From bosom, bleeding o'er the sacred dead ! Should not each dial strike «s as we pass, Portentous, as the ivritten ivaU, mddi struck, 48 THE COMPLAINT. O'er midmght bowls, the proud Assyrian pale, Ere-Avliile high-flush'd with insolence and wine ? Like thaty the dial speaks ; and points to thee, Lorenzo ! loth to break thy banquet up : " 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 inagiy to decypher what it means. KnoAv, like the JvTedean, fate is in tliy walls : Dost ask, Hoiu ? Wliejice ? JBehhazzar Uke, amaz'd! Man's make incloses the sure seeds of death ; Life feeds the mui'derer : Ingi'ate ! he thrives On her own meal, and then his nui-se devours. But hei'e, Lorenzo, the delusion lies ; That solar shado7v, as it measui'cs life. It life resembles too : Life speeds away From point to point, though seeming to stahd 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 ai*e gone. Warjvings point out our danger ; GnomonSy time : As these are useless when the sun is set ; So those, but when more glorious reason shines. Reason should judge in all ; in reason's eye, That sedentary shadow travels hard. IJut such our gi'avitation to the wrong, So prone our hearts to whisper what we wish, 'Tis later with the Avise, than he's aware ; A WilnmigtoJi goes slower than the sun : And all mankind mistake their time of day ; Ev'n age itself Fresh hopes are hourly sowu In fuiTOw'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 ; And tm'n our blessings into bane. Smce oft Man must compute that age he cannot yt?e^, 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. XIGHT SECOND. -4^ * On this, or similar, Phiiaxder ! 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 lip ; Clean runs the thread ; if not, 'tis thrown-away, Or kept to tie up nonsense for a song ; Song, fashionably fruitless ; such as stains The fancy, and unhallow'd passion fires ; Chiming her saints to Cytherea^s fane. Know'st thou, Lorenzo ! what a friend contains ?. As bees 7nix^d JKectar draw from fi-agant flow'rs, So men from FRiEiynsHip, wisdom and delight ; Twins ty'd by nature ; if they part, they die. Hast thou no friend to set thy mind abroach ? Good sense will stagnate. Thoughts, shut up, want air. And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun. Had thought been all, sweet speech had ])een deny'd; Speech, thought's canal ! Speech, Thought's criteriou too ! Thought in the. inine, may come forUi gold or (h*oss ; ^V^\en coin'd in wbrd, Ave know its real worth. If sterling, store it for thy future use ; 'TArill buy thee benefit ; perhaps renown. Thought too, deliver'd, is tbe more possest; Teaching, we learn ; and, giving, we retain The bu-ths of intellect ; as hen dumb, forgot. Speech ventilates our intellectual fire ; Speech biumishes our mental magazine ; Brightens, for ornament, and Avhets, for use. What numbers, sheath 'd in erudition, lie Plung'd to the hilts in venerable tomes, And rusted in ; who might have borne an edge, And play'd a sprightly beam, if bom to speech .' If born blest heirs to half theii- mother's tongue ! 50 THE COMPLAINT. *Tis thought's exchange, which, like th' alternate jmsh Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned scum. And defecates the student^ standing pool. In contemplation is his proud resource ? 'Tis poor, as proud, by converse unsustain'd. Rude thought runs wild in conteinplation^ s field; Converse, the menage, breaks it to the bit Of due restraint ; and eiynilation^ s spur Gives graceful energy, by rivals aw'd. ''Tis converse qualifies for solitude! As exercise, for salutary rest. By that untutor'd, contemplation raves ; And 7iatnre's fool, by loisdoiri's is outdone. Wisdom, though licher than PeTiivian minep-. And sweeter than the sweet ambrosial hive, "What is she, but the mesons o{ happiness F That unobtain'd, than folly more a fool ; A melancholy fool, withovit her bells. Friendship, the means of wisdom, richly gives The precious end, which makes our wisdom wise. JVature, in zeal for human amity. Denies, or damps, an vndivided joy. Joy is an import ; joy is an exchange ; Joy flies monopolists : It calls for tivo ; Kich fruit ! Heav'n planted ! never pluck'd by 07W- Needful auxiliars are our friends^ to give To social man true relish of himself. Full on ourselves descending in a line Pleasure's bright beam, is feeble in delight : Delight intense, is taken by rebound ; Meverberated pleasures fire the breast. VARIATIONS. After line 11. the early editions read thus : ** By that untutor'd, Contemplation raves " A lun r Prince, or famish'd Beggar dies ; ** And Nature's fool, by Wisdom's is outdone." And lines 18 and 19, stand thus : '* Triendship the means, and Friendship richly ^ves *' The |>rcuous end," &c. KIGHT SECOND. 51 Celestial happiness^ whene'er she stoops To \isit earth, one slirine the goddess finds. And one alone, to make her sweet amends For absent heav'n — the bosom of a friend ; Wliere heai*t meets heart, reciprocally soft. Each other's pillow to repose divine. Beware, the connterfeit : In passio?i^s flame Hearts melt ; but melt like ice, soon liarder froze. True love strikes root in reason ; passion's foe : Virtue alone entenders us for life : I wrong her much. — entenders us for ever : Oi friendships s fairest fruits, the fruit most fair Is virtve kindling at a rival fire. And, onulonsh/, rapid in her race. O the soft enmity ! Endearing strife ! This carries fi-iendship to her noon-tide point. And gives the rivet of eteimity. From friends/dp, which outlives my former tliemesj Glorious surviver of old time, and death ! From friendship, thus, tliat ilow'r of heav'nly seed> The w ise extract earth's most hybiean bliss, Superior wisdom, crown'd with smiling joy. But for whom blossoms this Eli/sianfmu'r ? Abroad t\\e.y find, vho cherish it at home. LoRExzo ! pardon what my love extorts. An honest love, and not afraid to frow n. I'hough choice of follies fasten on the greats None clings more obstinate, than fancy fond, That sacred friendship is their easy prey ; Caught by the wafture of a golden' liu-e'. Or fascination of a high-born smile. Their smiles, the great, and the coquet, throw cut For others hearts, tenacious of then- own ; And we no less of ours, when sv.ch the bait. Ye fortune's cofi*erei*s ! Ye pow'rs of wealth ! You do your rent-rolls most felonious vTOiig, VARIATION. After line 22, iu some editions, these are inserted} *' For joy, from Friendship bom, abounds in smilos '' 9 store it in the sours most golden cell !" 52 THE COMPLAmT By taking our attachment to yo^irselves- Can gold gain friendship ? Impudence of hope As well mere man an angel might beget. Love, and love only, is the loan for love. LoKENZO ! 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 shew thee friendship delicate, as dear. Of tender \iolations apt to die ? Jieserve will wound it ; and distrust^ destroy. Deliberate on all things with thy friend. But since friends gi^ow not thick on ev'ry bough, Nor ev'ry friend unrotten at the core ; First, on thy friend, delib'rate with thyself; I*ause, jjonder, sift ; not eager in the choice. Nor jealous of the chosen ; fixing, fix ; Judge before friendship, then confide, till deatli. Well, for thy friend ; but nobler far, for thee ; How gallant danger for earth's highest pi'ize ! A fi-iend is worth all hazard we can run. ** Poor is the friendless master of a M^orld : '* A world, in purchase for a friend, is gain.'* So sung he Tangels hear that angel sing ! Angels from friendship gather half their joy So sung Philaistder, as his friend went round In the ricli 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 Avarm'd him more, who more in- spir'd. Friendship's the wine of life ; but friendship tiext) (Not such was his) is neither strong, nor pure. O ! for the bright complexion, cordial warmth. And elevating spirit, of a friend, For twenty siunmers rip'ning by my side ; All feculence of falsehood long thrown down ; All social vu'tues rising in his soul ; .\s crystal clear ; aud smiling, as tbey rise ! 3SnGHT SECOND. 53 Jfere Nectar flows ; it sparkles in our sight ; Rich to the taste, and genuine from the heart. High -flavour 'd bliss for Gods ! on eaith how rare ! On earth how lost /— ■Philander is no more. Think'st thou the theme intoxicates my song ? Am 1 too warm ? — ^Too warm I cannot be. I lo\''d him much ; but now I love him more. Like birds, whose beauties languish, half conceal'd, 'Till, mounted on the Ming, their glossy pliunes Expanded shine with azure, green, and gold ; How blessings brighten as they take their flight ! His flight Philander took ; his upward flight. If ever soul ascended. Had he dropt, (That Eagle genius !) O had he let fall One feather as he flew ! I, then, had wi'ote. What friends might flatter ; prudent foes forbear ; Rivals scarce damn ; and Zoilus reprieve. Yet what I can, I must : It were profane To quench a glory lighted at the skies. And cast in shadows his illustrious close. Strange ! the theme mast affecting, most sublime^ Momentous most to man, should sleep imsung ! And yet it sleeps, by genius unawak'd, Painim or Christian ; to the blush of wit. Man's highest triumph ! Man's profoundest fall \ The death-bed of the just! is yet undrawn By mortal hand : It merits a divine : Angels should paint it, angels ever there ; There, on a post of honour, and of joy. Dare I presume, then ? But Philander bids ; And gloi7 tempts, and inclination calls- Yet am I struck ; as stimck the so\d, beneath Aerisl groves^ impeneti'able gloom ; Or, in some migflity ntin's solemn shade ; Or grazing by pale lamps on high-bom dust, In vaults ; thin courts of poor unflatter'd kings J Or, at the midnight altar's hallow'd flame. It is religion to proceed : I pause— An.^ enter, awM, the temple of my theme. Is it his death-6erf ? No : It is Ids shrine : Behold hiro, there, just riaing to a Ggd. 5i THE COMPLAINT. The chamber where the good man meets his fate. Is prlvileg'd beyond tlie common •walk Of virtiions life, quite in the verge of heav'n. Fly, ye profane ! If not, draw near with awe. Receive the blessing and adoi'e the chance. That threAv in this Bethesda your disease ; If unrestor'd by this, despah' your cure. For, here, resistless demonstration dwells ; A death -l>ed's a detector of the heart. Here, tir'd dissimnlation drops her mask. Through 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 ; If sound his Airtue ; as Philakder's soiuid. Heav'n waits not the last moment ; owns hfer friends On this side death ; and points them out to men ; A lecture silent, but of sov'i'eign pow'r ! To vice, confusion ; and to virtue, peace. Whatever farce the boastful hero plays. Virtue alone has majesty in death ; And gi'eater still, the mwe the tyrant fi-owns* Philaivdeh. ! he sevei*ely fi'own'd on thee. *' No warning giv'n ! Unceremonious fate ! A sudden rush from life's mendian joys ! A wrench from all we love ! from all we are / A restless bed of pain ! a plunge opaque Beyond conjecture ! Feeble nature's dread ! Strong reasoii's shudder at the dark unknown ! A sun extinguish 'd ! a just op'ning grave ! And oh ! the last, last ; what ? (can words express .' Thought reach ?) the last, last — Silence of a friend 1" "Where are those horrors, that amazement where. This hideous gi-oup of ills, which siiigly shock. Demand from man ?— I thought him man till noxv. Thro' nature's wreck, thro' vanquish 'd agonies, (Like the stars struggling thix)' this midnight gloom) What gleams of joy ! what more than human peace ! Where, the fi*ail mortal ? tlie poor abject Morra ? No, not in death, the mortal to be found. His conduct is a legacy for all. Ri.chor than mmnmoii's for his single heir. MGHT SECOND. 5? His comforters he comforts ; gi'eat in ruin. With unreluctant grandeur, gives, not yields His soul sublime ; and closes with his fate. How our hearts burnt within us at the scene ! Whence, this brave bound o'er limits fix'd to man ? His God sustains him in his final hour ! His final hour brings glory to his God ! Man's ^lory heav'n vouchsafes to call her own. We gaze ; we weep ; mixt tears of gi-ief and joy ! Amazement strikes ! Devotion bui*sts to flame ! Christians adore ! and Infidels believe. As some tall tow'r, or lofty mountain's brow. Detains the sun, illustrious from its height ; While nsing vapours, and descending shades. With damps, and darkness, drown tlie spacious rale^ Undamp'd by doubt, undarken'd by despair, Philaxder, thus, augustly rears his head. At that black hour, which gen'ral hoiTor sheds On the low level of th' inglorious throng : Sweet peace, and heav'nly hope, and hnmhlc J oif. Divinely beam on his exalted soul ; Destruction gild, and crown him for tlie skies, With incommunicable lustre, Jwight. COMPLAINT. NIGHT THIRD, NARCISSA. To her Grace the Dutchess of P- Ignoscenda quidem, scirent si ignoscere Mgnes.— Virg. F, ROM dremnSf where thought in fancy's maze rims mad, To reason, that heav'n lighted lamp in man. Once more I wake ; and at the destiu'd hour. Punctual as lovers to the moment sworn, I keep ifty assignation m ith my woe. O ! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought. Lost to the noble sallies of the soul ! Who think it solitude to be alone. Commmiion sweet! Communion large, and higlit Our reaaoti, guardian angel, and our God / Then nearest these, when others most remote ; And all, ere long, shall be remote, but tliese. How dreadful then, to meet them all alone, A stranger ! Unackno>vledg'd ! Unapiirov'd ! J\^QW woo them : wed them ; bind them to th) breast ; c 'Z 5B THE COMPLAINT. To win thy wish, creation has no more. Or, if we wish Sifoiirthf it is a friend — But friends, how mortal ! Dang'rous the desire. Take PHEBrs to yourselves, ye basking bards ! Inebriate at fair fortune's fountain-head ; And reeling through the wilderness of joy ! Where sense runs savage, broke from reason'' s chain. And sings false peace, till smother'd by the pall. My fortune is unlike ; unlike my song ; Unlike the Deity my song invokes. I to day^s soft ey'd sister pay my court, (Exdtmion's rival !) and her aid implore ; Now first implor'd in succour to the irnise. Thou, who didst lately borrow Cynthia's * foi"ft), And modestly forego thine own ! O thou Who didst thyself, at midnight hours, inspu'e ! Say, why not Ctnthia, patroness of song ? As thou her cresent, she thy character Assumes ; still more a goddess by ilie change. Are there demurring wits, who dare dispute This revolution in the world insjnr^d ? Ye ti-ain Pieriaii ! to the I.uvar sphere. In silent hour, address yoiu* ardent call For aid immortal ; less lier brother's right. She, with the sphei'es harmonious, nightly leads The mazy dance, and hears tlieir matchless strain ; A strain for Gods, deny'd to mortal ear. Transmit it heard, thou silver queen of heav'p ! W^hat title, or what name, endears tliee most ! Cynthi v ! CiLLENE ! Phoebe ! — or dost hear With higher gust, fair P — —t> of the skies ? Is that the soil enchantment calls thee down, More pow'rfnl than of old Civcean charm ? Come ; but fi-om heav'nly banquets with thee bring The soul of song, and whis])er in mine ear The theft divine ; or in pro'^iitious dreams (For dreams are thine) transfuse it thro' the breas-t Of thy first votary—— But not thy last ; If, like thy 7ianiesake, thou art e^ er kind. * At the Duke of Korfglk's MBsqaerade. NIGHT THIRD. 59 And kind thou wilt be ; kind on such a tlieme ; A theme so like thee, a quite lunar theme, Soft, modest, melanclioly, female, fair ! A theme that rose all pale, and told my soul, *Tw as 7iig]it ; on her fond hopes perpetual night ; A night which struck a damp, a deadlier damp. Than that which smote me from Phiiander's tomb; Nakcissa follows, ere his tomb is clos'd. Woes cluster ; rare are solitarij woes ; They love a train, they tread each other's heel ; Her death invades his mournful right, and claims The gi'ief that started from my lids for liim : Seizes the faithless, alienated tear, Or shares it, ere it falls. So frequent death, Sorrow he more than causes, he confounds ; For human sighs his riVal strokes contend. And make distress, distraction. Oh PuiLANDEa! What was thy fate ? A dciuble fate to me ; Portent, and pain ! a menace, and a blow ! Like the black raven hov'ring o'er my peace. Not less a bird of omen than of prey. It call'd Naucissa long before her hour ; It call'd her tender soul by break of bliss. From the fii'St blossom, from the buds of joy ; Those few our noxious fate unblasted leaves In this inclement clime of human life. Sweet harmonist ! and beautiful as SAveet ! And young as beautiful ! and soft as young '. And gay as soft ! and innocent as gay ! And happy (if aught happy here) as good ! For fortune fond, had built her nest on high. Like bu'ds quite exquisite of note and plume, Transfix'd hy fate (who loves a lofty mark) How from the summit of the grove she fell. And left it unhai"monious ! All its charm Extinguish'd in the wonders of her song! Her song still vibrates in my ra\ish'd ear. Still melting there, and Avith voluptuous pain (O to forget her !) thrilling through my heart ! Song, beauty, youth, love, virtue, joy ! this group Of bright ideas, flow'rs of paradise. 60 THE COMPLAINT. As yet unforfeit ! in one blaze Ave binr?. Kneel, and present it to the skies ; as all We guess of heav'n : xVnd these were all her own. And she was mine ; and I was— tt'a^ most blest— Oay title of the deepest misery ! As bodies grow more poud'rons robb'd of life ; Good, lost, weighs more in grief, than gahi'd in joy. Like blossom'd trees o'ertmni'd by vernal storm. Lovely in death the beanteons rubi lay ; And if in death still lovely, lovelier there ; Far lovelier ! Pity swells the tide of love. And w411 not the severe excnse a sigh ? Scorn the proud man that is ashaiA'd to weep : Our tears indiilg''dy indeed deserve our shame. Ye that e'er lost an angel ! pity me. Soon as the lustre languisli'd in her eye, DaAvning a dimmer day on human siglit ; And on her cheek, the residence of spi-ing, Pale Omen sat ; and scattei-'d fears around On all tliat saw (and who Avould cease to gaze, That once had seen ?) m ith haste, parental haste, I flew, I siiatch'd her from the rigid north. Her native bed, on which bleak Boreas blew, And bore her nearer to the sun ; the sun (As if the sun could envy) check'd his beam, L)cny'd his Avonted succour nor Avith more Regi'et beheld her drooping, than the bells Of lilies ! Faiz-est lilies not so fair. Queen hlies ! and ye painted populace ! W\\o dAvell in fields, and lead ambix)sial Ua'cs ; [n morn and ev'ning dcAv, your beauties bathe, \nd drink the sun ; Avhich gives your cheeks to glOAVj. \nd out-blush {mine excepted) ev'iy fan- ; iTou gladlier greA\ , ambitious of her hand, \\ hich often crop'd your odours, incense meet To thought so pure. Ye lovely fugitives ! VARIATION. " To thought so pnre," Sec. In the early editions, thus ; To thougbr so pure ; her floiii'rij state of min'i In Joy unfaVn. Ye lovely fugitives NIGHT THIRD. 61 (y'oeval race "with man ! for man you smile ; Why not smile at him too ? You shai'e indeed His sudden pass ; but not his constant pain. So man is made, nought ministers delight. But what his glowing passions can engage ; And glowing passions, bent on aught below. Must, soon or late, v ith anguish turn tlie scale ; And anguish, after rapture, how severe ! Rapture ! Bold man ! Avho tempts the wrath dinne. By plucking fi'uit deny'd to mortal taste, "VVhilst /iere, presuming on the rights of heav'n.. For transport dost thou call on ev'iy hour, LoRExzo ? At thy friend's expence be wise ; Lean not on earth ; 'twill pierce thee to the heart ; A broken reed, at best ; but, oft, a spear ; On its sharp ])oint peace bleeds, and hope expires. Turn, hopeless thought ! turn from her : Thought repell'd. Resenting rallies, and wakes ev'iy woe. Snatch'd ere thy prime ! and in thy bridal hour ! And when kind fortune, with thy lover, smil'd '. And when high-flavour'd thy fresh op'ning joys ! And when blind man pronounc'd thy bliss complete ! And on a foreign shore ; where sti-angers m ept ! Strangers to thee ; and, more surprising still. Strangers to kindness, -wept : Their eyes let fall Inhuman tears ; strange tears ; that trick'led do^\n From marble hearts ! obdurate tenderness ! A tenderness that call'd them more severe ; In spite of nature's soft persuasion, steel'd ; "Wliile nature melted, siipevstition rav'd ; That mourn 'd the dead, and this deny'd a gi'ave. Their sighs incens'd ; sighs foreign to the will ! Their will the Tyger suck'd, outrag'd the storm. For Oh ! the curst ungodliness of zeal ! While sinful fesh relented, spirit nui'st In blind infallibility's embrace. The sainted spirit petrify'd the breast ; Deny'd tlie charity of dust, to spread O'er dust ! a charity their dogs enioy. ' Wliat could I do I What succour r What i^esoui-ce 62 THE COMPLAINT. With pious sacrilege a gi'ave I stole ; With impious piety that gi'ave I wrone'd ; Short in my duty ; coward in my grief! More like her murderer, than friend, I crept. With soft-suspended step ; and, muffled deep In midnight darkness, -whispered my last sigh. I whispered -what should echo through their realms : Nor writ her name, whose tomb should pierce tbe skies. Presumptuous fear ! how durst I dread her foes, While nature's loudest dictates I obey'd ? Pardon necessity, blest sbade ! Of grief And indignation rival bursts I pourVl ; Half execration mingled with my prayer ; Kindled at man, while I his God ador'd ; Sore gi'udg'd the savage land her sacred dusf ; Stamp 'd the curst soil ; and with humanity (Denied Nahcissa) wish'd them all a grave. Glows my resentment into guilt f What guilt Can equal violations of the dead ? The dead, how sacred ! Sacred is the dust Of this heav'n-labour'd form, erect, divine ! This heav'n-assum'd majestic robe of earth, Jfe deign'd to weai", Avho hung the vast expanse With azure bright, and cloth'd the sun in gold. When ev'ry passion sleeps that can oftend ; When strikes us ev'ry motive that can melt ; When man can wreak his rancour nncontrojd^df That strongest curb on hisult and ill-will ; Then, spleen to dust / the dust of innocence ! An angel's dust ! — ^This Lucifer transcends ; When he contended for the patriarch's bones, 'Twas not the strife of malice, but of px'ide ; The strife of Pontiff" pride, not Pontiff" gall. Far less than this is shocking in a race Most -wretched, but from streams of mutual love ; And uncreated, but for love divine ; And, but for love divine, this moment, lost. By fate resorb'd, and sunk in endless night. Man hard of heait to man ! Of hojTld tilings M«st horrid ! '>fcd stupen,d.ouSj highly strange ! NIGHT THIRD. 63 Yet oft his courtesies are smoother wrongs ; Piide brandishes the favours he confei'S, And contumelious his humanity : Wliat then his vengeance ? Hear it not ye stars ! And thou, pale moon ! tuni paler at the sound : Man is to man the sorest, sm'est ill. A previous blast foretels the rising; storai ; O'erwhelming tiuT.'ets threaten ere they fall ; Volcano's bellow ere they disembogue ; Earth trembles ere her yawning jaws devour; And smoke betrays the wide consuming fire : Ruin from man is most conccal'd when near. And sends the dreadful tidings in the blow. Is this the flight of fancy ? Would it were ! Heav'n*s Sov'reign saves all beings but himself. That hideous sight, a naked human heart. Fir'd is the muse ? And let the muse be fir'd : Who not inflam'd, when what he speaks, he feels. And in th^ nerve most tender, in his fnends ? Shame to mankind ! Phuander had his foes ; He felt the tiiiths I sing, and I in him. But he, nor I, feel more ; Past ills, Narctssa ! Are sunk in thee, thou recent wound of heail ! Which bleeds with other cares, with other pangs ; Pangs num'rous, as the num'rous ills that SAvarm'd* O'er thy distii\guish'd fate, and, clust'ring tliere Thick as the locust on the land of JVile, Made death more deadly, and more dark the grave. Reflect (if not forgot my touching tale) How was each circumstance with aspics arm'd I An aspic, each ; and all, an ffi/dra-'woc. What strong Herculean virtue could suffice ? Or is it virttie to be conquer'd here ? This hoary cheek a train of tears bedews ; And eaclytear mourns its own lUstinct distress'; And each distress distinctly mourn 'd, demands Of grief still more, as heighten'd by the whole. A gi-ief like this proprietors excludes ; Not friends alone such obsequies deplore : They make mankind the mourner; carry si^is ysu* as the {^XstXfame ean win§ faer way / 64 THE COMPLAINT. And turn the gayest tliought of gayest age, Down the vight channel, through the vale of death. The vale of death ! that hush'd Cimmerian vale, Wlie)'e darkness, brooding o'er unfinish'd fates, "With raven wing incumbent, waits the day (Dread day !) that interdicts ail future cliange ! That subterranean world, that land of ruin I Fit walk, LoREjiTZO, for jiroud human thought ! T/iere let my thought expatiate ; and explore Balsamic truths, and heaUng sentiments. Of all most wanted, and most welcome, here. For gay Lorenzo's sake, and for thy own, IV'Iy soul ! " The fruits of dying friends survey ; Expose the vain of life ; weigh life and death ; Give death his eulogy ; thy fear subdue ; And labour that first palm of noble minds, A manly scorn of teiTor from the tomb." I'his harvest reap from thy Narcissa's grave. As poets feign'd, from Ajax' streaming blood Arose, with grief inscrib'd, a mournful flow'r ; Let wisdom blossom IVom my moilal wound. And first, of dying friends ; what fiiiit from these ? It brings us more than triple aid -, an aid To chase our thoughtlessness, fear, pride, and gnilt. * Our dying friends come o'er us like a cloud. To damp our braiiiless ai-dours ; and abate ; That glare of life, wliich often blinds the wise. Our dying friends are pioneei's, to smooth Our rugged pass to death ; to break those bars Of teri'oi', and abhorrence, nature throws Cross our obstructed way ; and thus to make Welcome, as safe, our port from ev'ry storni. Kach friend by'fufe snatch'd from ns, is a pluuie Pluck'd from tlie wing of human vanity, Which jtnakes us stoop from our aerial heights. And, damp'd with omen of oui' own decease. On drooping pinions of ambition lower'd, VARIATION. Afu V line 22, in one edition, these are founds " Rich fruit this tempest in ouv bosom throw?, • Few minds will gather in our life serene :*■ NIGHT THIRD. 63 .Tust skim earth's surface ere we break it up,' * O'er putrid earth to scratch a little dust, And save the world a nuisance. Smitten friends Are angels sent on errands full of love ; For us they languish, and for ns they die : And shall they languish, shall they die in vain ? Ungrateful, shall we grieve their hov'ring shades, ■Which wait the revolution in our heax'ts r Shall we disdain their silent, soft address ; Their posthumous ad>ice, and pious pray'r ? Senseless as herds that graze their hallow'd graves, Tread underfoot their agonies and groans ; Frustrate their anguish, and destroy their deaths ? Lorenzo ! no ; the thought of death indulge ; Give it its wholesome empire ! let it reign. That kind chastiser of thy soul in joy I Its reign will spread thy glorious conquest far. And still the tumults of thy ruffled breast ; Auspicious JEra. ! Golden days begin ! The thought of deatli, shall, like a god, inspire. And why not think on death ? Is life the theme Of ev'iy thought ? and wish of ev'ry hour ? And song of ev'ry joy ? Surprising truth ! The beaten spaniel's fondness not so strange. To wave the num'rous ills that seize on life As their own property, their lawful pi-ey ; Ere man has measiu*'d half his weary stage. His luxiiries have left him no reserve, No maiden relishes, unbroach'd delights ; On cold-serv'd repetitions he subsists. And in the tasteless present, chews the past ; Disgusted chews, and scarce can swallow down, liike lavish ancestors, his earlier years Have disinherited his future hx)urs, WWch starve on oris, and glean their former field. Live ever here, Lorenzo !^— Shocking thought ! So shocking, they who wish, disown it too ; Disown from shame, what they from folly crave. Live ever in the womb, nor see the light ! For what live ever here i"— AVith lab 'ring step •In the early «ditionJ-^* O'er puttidprirff,'' &t» &6 THE COMPXAIXT. To tread our former footsteps ? Pace the round Eternal ? To climb life's worn, hea-vy wheel. Which draws up notliing new ? To beat, and beat, Tbe beaten track ? To bid each wretched day The fonner mock ? To surfeit on the same. And yawn our joys ; or thank a misery For change, tha' sad ? To see what we have seen r Hear, 'till miheard, the same old slabber'd tale ? To taste the tasted, and at each return Less tasteful ? O'er our palates to decant Another vintage ? Strain a flatter year. Through loaded vessels, and a laxer tone. ? Crazy machines to grind earth's wasted fruits ! lU-gi'ound, and worse concocted ! Load, not life ! The rational foul kennels of excess ! vStill-streamuig thoroughfares of dull debauch ! Trembling each gulp, lest death should snatch the bowl. Such of o\XY fine ones is the wish refin'd ! So would they have it : Elegant desire ! Why not invite the bellowing stalls, and Avilds ? But such examples might their riot awe. Through want of virtue, that is, want of thought, (Tho' on bright thought they father all their flights,) To what are they reduc'd ? To love and hate. The same vain world ; to censure and espouse. This painted shrew of life, who calls them fool Each moment of each day ; to flatter bad 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. And infamous for wrecks of human hope— Scar'd at the gloomy gvxlph, that yawns beneath. Such are their triumphs ! such their pangs of joy ! 'Tis time, high time, to shift this dismal scene. This hugg'dy this hideous state, what art can cure ? One only : but that one, what all may reach ; VittTtJE — she, wonder-working goddess ! charms That rock to bloom ; and tames the painted shrexa £ And what will more surpiise, LoREifzo ! gives To life's sick, nauseous iteration, change ; And stfaiteus nature's circle to a Uue. KIGHT THIRD. €7 Bellev'st thou this, Lorexzo ? 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 jo}'s Of sight, smell, taste : The cuckow-seasons sing The same dull note to such as nothing pi'ize. But what those seasons, from the teeming earth, To doating sense indulge. But nobler minds. Which relish fruits unripen'd by the svn. Make their days various ; various as the dyes On the dove's neck, which wanton in his I'ays. On minds of dove-like innocence possest. On lighten'd minds, that bask in \irtue's beams. Nothing hangs tedious, nothing old revolves In that, for which they long ; for which they live. Their glorious eftbrts, wing d with heav'nly hope. Each rising moi'ning sees still higher rise ; Each bounteous dawn its novelty presents To worth maturing, new strength, lustre, farao ; While nature's circle, like a chariot -wheel Rolling beiieath their elevated aims. Makes their fair prospect fairer ev'iy hour ; Advancing vtrtiie, in a line to bliss ; Virtue, wliich christian motives best inspire ? And hlissy which christian schemes alone ensure ! And shall we then, for virtue's sake, commence Apostates ? and turn infidels for joy ? A truth it is, few doubt, but fewer trust, ** He sins against this life, who slights the tiextV WTiat is this life ? How few their fav'rite know ! Fond in the dark, and blind in our embrace. By passionately loving life, we make Lov'd life unlovely ; hugging her to death. We give to time etwnity's regard ; And, dreaming, take our passage for our port. Life has no value, as an end, but means ; An end deplorable ! a means divine ! When 'tis our all, 'tis nothing ; worse than nought ; A nest of pains : when held as nothing, much : Like some fair hum'i-ists, life is most enjoy'd When courted least ; most worth, when disesteem'd ; Thea 'tis the seat of comfort, rich in peace ; 68 THE COMPLAINT. In prospect richer far ; important ! aw'ful ! . Not to be mention'd, but -with shouts of praise \ Not to be thouglit on, but vnih tides of joy ! The mighty basis of eternal bliss ! Wliere now the barren rock P the painted shrew ? ^Vhere now, Lorenzo ! Life's eternal round ? Have I not made my triple promise good ! Vain is the world ; but only to the vain. To what compare we then this varying scene. Whose worth ambiguous rises, and declines ? Waxes, and wanes ? (In all propitious, night Assists me here :) compare it to the moon ; Dark in herself, and indigent ; but rich In borrow'' d lustre from a higher sphere. When gross guilt interposes, lab'ring earth, O'ershadow'd, mourns a deep eclipse of joy ; Her joys, at brightest, pallid, to that font Of full effulgent glory, whence they flow. Nor is that gloiy cUstant : Oh Lokenzo ! A good man, and an angel ! these between How thin the barrier ? What divides tlieir fate ? Perhaps a moment, or perhaps a year ; Or, if an age, it is a moment still ; A moment, or eternity's forgot. Then be, what once they were, who now are gods ; Be what Philander was, and claim the skies. Starts timid natui'e at the gloomy pass ? The soft transition call it, and be cheer'd : Such it is often, and Avhy not to thee ? To hope the best is pious, brave, and wise ; And may itself />roc7/re what '\t presumes. Life is much flattered, death is much traduc'd : Compare the rivals, and the kinder crowa. " Strange competition .'"—True, Loreitzo I Strange ! So little life can cast into the scale. Life makes the soul dependant on the dust ; Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres. Tlu'o' chinks, styl'd organs, dim life peeps at lighf j Death bursts th' involving cloud, and all is day i All eye, all eai", the disembody'd pow'r. Death has feigu'd evils, nature shall not feej i NIGHT THIRD. 69 JLifty ills substantial, -unsdom cannot shim. Is not the mighty mind, that son of heav'n, By tyrant life dethron'd, imprison'd, pain'd ? By death enlarg'd, ennobled, deify'd ? Death but entombs the body ; life the soul. " Is death then guiltless ? How he marks his way ** With dreadful Avaste of what deserves to shine ! ** Art, genius, fortune, elevated pow'r! " 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 Z(/e the man. Life 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 joy, but what kind death improves. No bliss has life to boast, 'till death can give Far greater ; lifers a debtor to the gi-ave. Dark lattice ! letting in eternal day. LoREXZo! blush nt fondness for a life. Which sends celestial souls on eirands vile. To cater for the sense ; and serve at boards. Where ev'ry ininger of the wilds, i>erhaps Each reptile, justly claims oiu* vipper hand. Luxurious feast ! a soul, a soul immoital. In all the dainties of a brute bemir'd ! LoREXzo ! blush at terror for a death, Wliich ^ves thee to repose in festive bow'rs, Wliere nectars spai'kle, angels ministei". And more than angels share, and raise, and crown, And eternize, the birth, bloom, bursts of bliss. What need I more ? O death, the palm is thine. Then welcome, death ! thy di'eaded harbingers, ,9g-e 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 natui'e drops, perhaps, a tear, ^Vhile reason and religion, better taught. Congratulate the dead, and crown his tomb With wreath triumphant. Dgs^Ui is victory ; t4 the complaint. It binds in chains the raging ills of life ; Jjiist and Aiyibition, tovath and avarice^ Di-agg'd at his cha^iot-^vheel, applaud his pow'i:. Tliat ills corrosive, cares importunate, Are not immortal too, O death ! is thine. Our day of dissolution !— Name it right; 'Tis our great pay-day ; 'tis our harvest, rich And ripe : What though the sickle, sometimes keen, Just scars us as we reap the golden grain ? More than thy balm, O Gilead ! heals the wound. Birtli's feeble cry, and deatJi's deep dismal groan> Are slender tributes low-taxt nature pays For mighty gain : The gain of each, a life ! But O ! the last, the former so transcends. Life dies, compai-'d ! Life lives beyond the grave. And feel I, Death ! no joy fi-om thought of thee ? Death, the great counsellor, who man inspires With e\''ry nobler thought, and fairer deed ! Death, the deliverer, who rescues man ! Death, the rewarder, who the rescu'd ci-owns ! Death, that absolves my birth ! a curse without it ! Rich death, that realizes all my cares. Toils, virtues, hopes ; without it a chimera ! Death, of all pain the period, not of jo}' ; Joy's source, and mbject, still subsist unhurt; One, in my soul ; and one, in her great sire ; Though the four winds Avere Avarring for my dust. Yes, and from winds and waves, and central night. Though prison'd thei'e, my dust too I reclaim, (To dust when drop proud nature's proudt'St spheres) And live entire. Death is the crown of life : Were death deny'd, poor man Avould live in vain ; Were death deny'd, to live Avoidd not be life ; Were death deny'd, ev'n fools Avould wish to die. Death wounds to cure : We fall ; we rise ; a\ e reign ♦ Spring from our fetters ; fasten in the skies ; AVhere blooming Kden withers in our sight. Death gives us more than was in Riltn lost ; This King of Terrors is the Pritice of Peace. When shall I die to vanity, pain, death ? When sliall I die ?— Wlien shall I live for ever ? COMPLAINT. NIGHT FOURTH. THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH. Containing oiir only Cure for the fear of Deathy a7id proper Sentiments of Heart mi that inesti- mable Blesmig. To the Honoarable Mr. Yorke. A. MUCH indebted Muse, O Yorke ! intrudes. Amid the smiles of fortune, and of youth. Thine ear is patient of a seHous song. How deep implanted in the breast of man The dread of death ! I sing its sov'reign cure. Why start at death ? W liere is he ? Death arriv'd, Is past ; not come, or gone ; He's never Iiere. Ere hopCy sensation fails; black-bo to smile ! DeatKs admonitions, like shafts upward shot. More dreadful by delay : the lorigt-r ere They strike our hearts, the de< p^r is their wound. O think how deep, J^obkxxo ! here it stings : Who can appease its anguish ? Mow it burns ! What hand the barb'd, envenom'd, thought can dra-i^ What healing hand can pour the balm of peace. And turn my siglit undaunted on the tomb r With joy — with gi'ief, that hpolivg hand I see ; Ah ! too conspicuous ! It is fi vM on high. On high ? — What means my frenzy ? I blaspheme ; Alas ! iiow lo'ia ! 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 blessiii What heai't or can sustain, or dares forego ? There hangs all human hope ; th.at nail supports The falling imiverse : That gone, we drop ! Horror receives us, and the dismal Avish Creation had been smother'd in her birth — Darkness his curtain, and his bed the dust ; When stars and sun are du-jt beneath his tlirorjc- ' 76 THE COMPLAINT, In heav'n itself can such indulgence dwell ? O what a gi'oan was there ! a groan not his. He seiz'd our dreadful right ; the load sustain'd ; And heav'd the mountain from a guilty world. A thousand worlds, sa bought, were bought toodej^r- 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, mght ! a\ ith all thy tuneful spheres ! [Much rather thou ! yiha dost these spheres in' spire !]* Whilst I with seraphs share seraphic themes. And shew to men the dignity of Man ; I^est I blaspheme my subject with my song. Shall Pagan pages glow celestial flame. And Christian, languish ? On our hearts, not h^ads, Falls the foul infamy : My heart ! awake. Wliat can awake thee, unawak'd by this, " Expended Deity on human weal r" Feel the great truths, which burst the tenfold night Of Heathen error, with a golden flood Of endless day : To feel, is to be fir'd ; And to believe, Lorenzo ! is to feel. Thou most indulgent, most tremendous Pow'r • Still more tremendous for thy Avond'rous love ! That arms, with awe more awful, thy commands ; And foul transgression dips in sev'nfold night ; How our hearts tremble at thy love immense ! In love immense, inviolably just. Thou, rather than thy justice should be stain'd. Didst stain the cross ; and, work of wonders far The greatest ! that thy deai-est far might bleed.' Bold thought ! shall I dare speak it, or repress ? Should jNIan more execrate, or boast the guilt Which rous'd such vengeance ? which such love in- flam'd ? O'er guilt (how mountainous !) with out-stretch'd arms. • This line is fourel in oc»y cue edition that has been exatniucd' "N'ICHT FOURTH. 7"r Stern Justice and soft-smiling love, embrace. Supporting, in full majesty, thy throne. When seemM its majesty to need support, Or thatf or mauy inevitably lost. What, but the- fatho?nless of thought divine, Couldiabour such expedient from despair, And rescue both ? Both rescue ! Both exalt ! O how are both exalted by the deed ! The wond'rous deed ! or shall I call it more ? A wonder in Omnipotence itself ! A mystery, no less to gods than men ! Not thus, our Infidels th' Eternal draw, A God all o'er consummate, absolute, Full-orb'd, in his whole round of rays complete : Tliey set at odds Heav'n's jari'ing attributed ; And, with one excellence, another Avound ; Maim Heav'n's perfection, break its equal beams, Bid mercy triumph ovei"^ — God himself, Undeify'd by their opprobrious praise : A God cdl mercy, is a God unjust. Ye brainless wits ! ye baptis'd mfidels ! Ye worse for mending ! wash'd to fouler stains ! The ransom was paid down ! the fund of Heav'n, Heav'n's inexhaustible exhausted fund. Amazing, and amaz'd, pour'd forth the price. All price beyond : Though curious to compute. Archangels fail'd to cast the mighty sum : Its value vast ungi'asp'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 chai-iot : Midnight veil'd his face ; Not such as this ; not such as nature makes ; A midnight. Nature shudder'd to behold ; A midmght new ! a dread eclipse (without Opposing spheres) from her Creator's fi"Own ! Snn ! didst thou fly thy Maker's pain .-' Or start At that enormous load of human guilt, Which bow'd his blessed head; o'erwhebaM his cross ; 78 THE COMPLAINT. IMade gi'oan the centre ; burst earth's marble womb, With panes, strange pangs ! deliver'd of her dead ? Hell howl d ; and Heav'n that hour let fall a tear ; Heav'a wept, that men might smile ! Heav'n bled, tliat man Might never die ! — ■ And is devotion virtue P 'Tis compelled : What heart of stone, but glows at thoughts like these P Such contemplations mount us ; and should mount The mind still high'r ; nor ever glance on man, Unraptur'd, uninflam'd. — Where roll my thoughts To rest From wonders ? Other v. onders rise ! And strike ^\ here'er they roll : My soul is caught : Heav'n 's sov 'reign blessings, clust'ring from the cross, Rush on her, in a throng, and close her round. The pris'ner of amaze ! — \n his blest life, I see the path, and, in his death, the price. And in his great ascent, the proof supreme Of immortality. — And (lid he rise ? Hear, O ye nations ! liear it, O ye dead ! He rose !* He rose ! He burst the ]>ars of death. Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates ! And give the King of Glory to come in. Who is tbe King of Giory? He who left His Throne of Glory, for the pang of death : Lift u]) your heads, ye everlasting gates ! And give tbe King of Glory to come in. Who is the King of Glory i" He who sIcav The rav'nous fo.-, tliat gorg'vl all human race ! The King of Glory, He, whose glory bll'd Heav'n with amazement at his love to man; And with divine complacency beheld I^ow^rs most ilbamin'd, wilder'd in the theme. Tlie theme, the joy, how then shall man sustain ? Oh the burst gates ! crush'd sting ! demolish'd Throne ! T,ast gasp ! of vannnisli'd death, shout Earth and IToav'n ' NIGHT FOURTH. 79 This mm of good to man .• Whose nature, then, Took wing, and mounted Avith Kim from the tomb \ Then, then I rose ; then first humamtti Triumphant past the ciystal i)CHts of light, (Stupendous guest !) and seiz'd eternal youth, Seiz'd"^in o???' name. E'er since, 'tis blasphemous To call man moi-tal. Man's morU'iity Was, then, transferr'd to death ; and Heav'u's du- ration Unaliejiahly sejil'd to this frail fmme, This child of dust. — Man, all immorta( ! hail ; Hail, Heav'n ! all-lavish of strange gifts to mail! Thine all the glory ; man's the boundless bliss. ^^^lere am I rapt by this triun\phant theme. On Christian joy's exulting wing ? above Th' Ionian mount ! — Alas, small cause for joy \ What if to pain immortal ? If extent Of being, to preclude a close of woe ? Where ,^ then, my boast of immortality ? I boast it still, though cover'd o'er av ith guilt ; Fov guiio, not innocence, his life he pour'd '. 'Tis guilt alone can jastify his death ; Nor that, unless his death can justify Relenting guilt in lleav'n's indulgent SJglit. If, sick of folly, I relent ; he writes My name in Heav'n, with that inverted spear (A. spear deep-dipt in blood !) which pierc'd his side. And open'd there a font for all mankind. Who strive, who combat crimes, to drink, and live : T/iJs, only this, subdues the. /ear of death. And what is ihis ? — Survey the wond'rous cure ; And at each step, let higher wonder rise ! " Pardon for infinite offence ! and pai'don Through means, that speak its value infinite \ A pardon bought with blooil ! with blood divine ! With blood di\ine of him, I made my foe ! Persisted to provoke ! though \\ oo'd and aw'd. Blest and chastis'd, a flagrant rebel still ! A rebel, 'midst the thunders of liis throne ! Nor I alone ! a rebel universe ! My specie-3 up in arms I not one exempt ! SD THE CON^IPLAINT. Yet for the foulest of the foul, he dies ; Most joy'd, fox' 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 heart ! and ev'ry bosom, burn ! Oh what a scale of mu'acles is here ! Its lowest round, high planted in 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 AVill give thee leave) my praise ! for ever flow ; Praise ardent, cordial, constant, to high Heav'n More fragi'ant, than Arabia sacrific'd, And all her spicy mountains in a flame. So deal-, so due to Heav'n, shall praise descend. With her soft plume (from phmsive angel's wing First pluck'd by man) to tickle mortal ears. Thus diving in the pockets of the great ? Is praise the perquisite of ev'ry paw, Tho' black as hell, that gi-apples well for gold ? Oh love of gold ! thou meanest of amours ! Shall praise her odours Avaste on Yirtce's dead ! Embalm the base, perfume the stench of guilt, Earn dirty bread by washing ,Mthiops fair. Removing filth, or sinking it from sight, A scavenger in scenes, Avhere vacant posts. Like gibbets yet untenanted, expect Theu- futui-e ornaments ? From courts and throned. Return, apostate praise ! thou vagabond ! Thou prostitute ! to thy first love return. Thy first, thy greatest, once unrival'd theme. There flow redundant ; like meander flow. Back to thy fountain ; to that parent pow'r, VVJio gives the tongue to sound, the thought to soar, The soul to he. Men homage pay to men. Thoughtless beneath whose dreadful eye they bow n mutual aAve profound, of clay to clay, )f guilt to guilt ; and turn their backs on thee, ?refl? Sire ! whom Thrones celestial ceaseless sing 5 To prostrate angelsj an amazing scene ! NIGHT FOURTH. 81 Oh the pi'esumption of man's awe for man ! INIan's author ! end! restorer! law and judge! 'i'hine, all ; day thine, and thine this gloom oiyiighty With all her wealth, ^^ ith all her i-adiant worlds ; What, night eternal, but a frown from thee ? AVhat, 4leav'n's meridian glory, but tliy smile I A nd sliall not praise be thine ? Not human praise ? AV'hilc Heav'n's high host on hallelnjahs live ? O may I breathe no longer, than I breathe ]My soul in praise to him, who gave my soul. And all her infinite of prospect fair, (^ut thro' the shades of hell, great love ! by Thee, Oh most adorable ! most unatlor'd ! Where shall that praise begin, which ne'er should end? Where'er I tarn, what claim on all applause ! How is nighfs sable mantle labour'd o'er. Mow richly wrought with attributes divine ! AVhat -id'sdom shines ! what love ! this midnigh' pomp. This gorgeous areli, with golden worlds iulay'd '. Bnilt with divine ambition ! nought to thee ; ]''or others tliis profusion: Thou, apart. Above ! Beyond ! O tell me, mighty mind ! ^V''here art thou ? Shall I dive into the ikeli ? Call to the sun^ or ask the roaring icimhy For their Creator? Shall I quesliou loud Tlie thunder, if in that th' Almighty dwells ? Or holds the furious storm.?, in stniiten'd I'ciiiS, AtkI bids fierce whirhvinds wheel liis ra])id car ? What mean these questions r — nVembling, I 1j tract ; My prostrate soul adores the present God. Praise I a distant Deity P He tunes My voice (if tun'd ;) the nerve that Avrites sustains ; Wrap'd in his being, I resound his praise : Hut though past all diffused, witiiout a sliore, lUs essence; local is his throne (as meet) To gather the disperst (as standards call The listed from afar ;) to fix a point, A central point, collective of his sous. 82 THE COMPLAINT. Since ^/inite ev'ry nature, but liis own. Tlie nameless He, Avhose nod is nature^ s birtli ; And natiire^s shield, the shadow of his hand ; Hei' dissolution, his suspended sinile ! The ^'cat First-Last .' paAdlion'd high he sits In darkness, from excessive splendovir, home. By gods unseen, unless thro' lustre lost. His glory, to created gloi-y, bright. As that to central horrors ; He looks down On all that soars ; and spans immensity. Tho' night unnumber'd worlds unfolds to view,. Boundless creation ! what art thou .'' A beam, A mere effluvium of his Majesty. .'Vnd shall an atom of this atonv-world Mutter, in dust and sin, the theme of Hcav'n .'' Down to the centre should I send my thought. Through 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 through the boundless vault of stars, (The stars, though rich, what dross their gold to Thee, Great, good, wise, wonderful, eternal King !) If to those cojisciojis stars thy throne around, IVaise ever-pouring, and imbibing bliss ; And ask their strain ; they want it, jnore they want. Poor their abundance, humble their sublime, • Languid their energj', their ardour cold, i Indebted still, their highest rapture burns; ■ Short of its mark, defective, though divine. ; Still more— 'This theme is Man's and Man's alone ; 'Their vast appointments reach it not : They see On erath a bounty not indulg'— my world ! My light in darkness ! and my life in death ! My boast through time ! Bliss thi'ough eternity ! Eternity ! too short to speak thy praise ! Or fathom thy profound of love to man ; To man of men the meanest, ev'n to me ! My sacrifice ! my God !■ — what tilings are these ! What then art thou ? by what name shall I call thee ? KneAv I the name devout archangels use, Devout archangels should the name enjoy. By me unrival'd ; thousands more sublime. None half so dear, as that, which, though unspoke, I Still glows at heart : O how Omnipotence 'Is lost in love ! thou great Philaxthropist ! ,Father of angels ! but the friend of Man ! ILike Jacob, fondest of the younger bom ! Thou, who didst save him, snatch the smoking brand From out the flames, and quench it in thy blood ! '.How art thou pleas'd by bounty to distress i ijo ir^ake us grotya beneath our gratitude. NIGHT FOURTH. 87 Too big for birth ! to favour, and confound ; To challenge, and to distance all return '. Of lavish love stupendous heights to so^. And leave praise panting in the distant vale ! Thy right too great, defrauds thee of thy due ; And sacrilegious our subliniest song. Rut since the naked -loill obtains thy smile, Beneath this monument of praise unpaidf And future life symphonious to my strain, (That noblest hymn to Heav'n !) forever lie Entomb'd my fear of death ! and ev'ry fear, The dread of ev'ry evil, but thy frown. Whom see I yonder, so demurely smile ? Laughter a labour, and might break their rest. Ye quietists, in homage to tlie skies ! Serene ! of soft address ! who mildly make An unobtrusive tender of your hearts, Abhorring«Vi(»l(Mico ! who /ta^findeed ; But, for the blessing, tvrestle not with Heav'n ' Think you my song too turbulent ? too warm ? Arc passions, then, the Pagans of the soul .■' lieason alone baptiz'd ? alone ordaiii'd To touch things sacred ? Oh for warmer still ! Guilt chills my zeal, and age benumbs }ny pow'rs ; Oh for an humbler heart, and prouder song ! Thou, my much uijur'd theme ! with that soft eye Which melted o'er doom'd Salem, deigii to look Compassion to the coldness of my breast ; And pardon to the winter in my strain. Oh, ye cold-heai'ted, frozen formalists ! On such a theme, 'tis impious to be calm ; Passion is reason, transport temper, hei^e. Shall Heav'n which gave us ardour, and has shewn. Her own for Man so strongly, not disdain What smooth emollients in theologj-. Recumbent virtue's downy doctors preachy That pi'ose of piety, a lukewarm praise ? Rise otlours sweet from incense tininflamd? Devotion, when lukewarm, is undevout ; But when it glows, its heat is struck to Heav'n ; I'o human hearts her golden harps are strung ; 88 THE COMPLAINT. High Heav'n's Orchestra ehants ^men to man. Hear I, or dream I hear, their distant strain, Sweet to the soul, and tasting strong of Heav'n, Soft-wafted on celestial Pity's plume, Through the vast spaces of the universe, To dieer me in tliis 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-Mall tlirow down ! Give beings, one in nature, one abotlc ? Oh death divine ! that giv'st us to the skies ! iivG^it future ! glorious patron of \\\^ past. And present ! Avhen shall I thy shrine adore r From Nature's continent^ immensely wide, (mmensely blest, this little isle of life^ Tliis dark, incarcerating colony. Divides iis. Happy day ! that breaks onr chain ; That manumits ; that calls from exile honft* ; That leads to Nature's gi'eat metropolis. And re-admits us, through the gnardian hand Of elder brothei-s, to our Father's throne ; Who hears om- advocate, and, through liis wound'; Beholding man, allow s 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 hangs all our hope : Touch'd by the cross, we live, or ?no7^e than die ; That t02ich which touch'd not angels ; more divine Than that, which touch'd confusion into form. And darkness into glory ; partial touch ! InefTably pre-eminent regard ! Sacred to man, and sov'reign througli the v.liole Long golden chain of miracles, which hangs From Heav'n through all duration, and suppoils In one illustrious and amazing plan. Thy welfare, J\'atv.re .' and thy God's renown ; That touch, with charm celestial, heals the soul Dlseai;'d, drives pain from guilt, lights life in death, i\u-ns earth to Heav'n, to bgav'iily thrones trans- forms KIGHT FOURTH. 80 The ghastly ruins of the mould'ring tomb ! IDost ask" me when ? when he who dy'd retums ; Retmrfs, how chang'd ! Where then the man of woe? In glory's terrors all the Godhead burns ; And all his courts, exhausted by the tide Of deities triumphant in his train. Leave a stupendous solitude in Heav'n ; , Replenish'd soon, replenish'd with increase Of pomp, and multitude ; a radiant band Of angels new ; of angels from the toinb. I* this by fancy thrown remote ? 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 flaming flight .'' Th' illustrious stranger passing, ten'or sheds On gazing nations, from his fiery train Of length enormous, takes his ample round Thro' depths of ether ; coasts unnumber'd worlds. Of more than solar glory ; doubles wide Heav'n's mighty cape, and then revisits earth. From the long travel of a thousand years. Thus, at the destin'd iJeriod, shall return He, once on eaith, who bids the comet blaze : And, with him, all our triumph o'er the tomb. j\/'ature is dumb on this important point ; Or hope precarious in low whisper breathes ; Faith speaks aloud, distinct ; ev'n Adilers hear. But turn, and dart into the dark again. Faith builds a bridge across the gulph of death. To break the shock, blind JVature cannot shun. And lands thought smoothly on the fartlier shore. Death's teri'or, 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 ? Lorexzo ; — " Reason bids, « AU-i^icred Beawn."— HoW hei' sacred stiU-; 90 THE COMPLAINT. Nor shalt thou want a rival in tliy fiame : AU-saercd J?d«so7i ; source, and soul, of all Demanding praise, on eailh, or eaith above ! My heart is thine : Deep in its inmost folds, Jjive thou Avith life ; live dearer of the two. AVear I the blessed cross, by fortune stainp'd On passive Nature, before thought was born * My birth's blind bigot ! fir'd with local zeal ! No ; Reason re-baptiz'd me when adult ; Weigh'd true, and false, in her impartial scale ; My heart became the convert of my head ; And made that choice, which once was but ray fate, *' On argument alone my faith is buiU :" Reason pursu'd is Faith ,- and unpursu'd Where proof invites, 'tis reason, then, no more : And such our proof, that, or our Faith is right y Or Reason lies, and l£ea\^n design'd it ivi'07ifi- : Absolve we this ? What, then, is blasphemy ? Fond as M'e are, and justly fond of Faith", Reason, we gi'ant, demands our first regard ; The mother honour'd, as the daugliter dear. Reason the root ; fair Faith is but the flow'r ; The fading flow'r shall die ; but Reason lives Immortal as her Father in the skies. When Faith is virtue, Reason makes it so. W'rong not the Christian; think not Reason voun , '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 shew the reason of a man ; Believe, and taste the pleasure of a god ; Believe, and look with triumph on the tomb. Through Reasoti's wounds alone thy Faith can dn . Which dying, tenfold terror gives to death. And dips in venom his twice-mortal sting. Learn lience what honours, what loud pdsans dut To those, who push our antidote aside ; Those boasted friends to Reason, and to JiTan, Whose fatal love stabs ev'ry joy, and leaves Death's terror heighten' d,, gnawing on his kcarti. NIGHT FOURTH. 91 These pompous sons of Reason idolized And vility'd at once ; of Reason dead. Then deify'd, as nionarchs were of old ; What cSnduct plants prond laurels on their brow ? While love of truth through all their camp resoundsj They draw pride's curtain o'er tlie noon-tide ray, Spike np their inch of Reason, on the xioint Of philosophic wit, calPd argiunent ; And then, exulting, in their taper, ciy, *' Behold the Sun ;" and, Tndian-Wke, adore. Talk they of morals ? O tliou bleeding Love ! Thou Maker of 7?ew morals to mankind ! The grand morality, is love of thee. As wise as Socrvtks, if such they were, (Nor will they 'bate of that sublime renown ;) As 7ciLe of this so vast circumference, Well knows, but wliHt is moral, nought is ffreat. Sing SyreiiH only ? Do not angels sing ? There is-in Poesy a decent pride. Which Mcll becomes her when slie speaks to Prose, Her younger sister ; haply, not more wise. Thhik'st thou, Lorenzo ! to find pastimes liere ? No guilty passion blown into a flame. No foible flatter'd, dignity disgrac'd. No fairy field of fiction, all on flov'r. No rainbow colours, here, or silken tulc : But solemn counsels, images of awe. Truths, which eternity lets fall on man With double weight, thi'ough these i-cvolving spheres. This death-deep silence, and incumbent shade ; Thoughts, such as shall re-visit your last hour ; \\s\t uncall'd, and live when life expires ; And thy dark pencil, midnight .' darker still In melancholy dipt, embrowns the whole. Yet this, ev'n this, my laughter-loving friends ' LoREXZO ! and thy brothers of the smile ! If what imports you niost, can most engage, Shall steal your ear, and chain you to my song. Or, if you fail me, know, the wise shall taste The truths I sing ; the truths I sing shall feel ; And, feeling, give assent; and their assent Is ample recompense ; is more than praise. But chiefly thine, O Litchfield ! nor mistake ; Think not unintroduc'd I force my way ; Narcis.S-4, not unknown, not unally'd. By virtue, or by blood, illustrious Youth ! To thee, from blooming AmarantMne bow'rs, Wliere all the language harmony, descends Uncall'd, and asks admittance for the muse : A muse that will not pain thee with thy praise ; Thy pi-aise she drops, by nobler still inspir'd. O tliou ! blest spirit ! -.(ihetfier the supreme. Great ante-mundane Father ! in whose breast Embryo creation, unborn being, dv.elt. And all its various revolutions roU'd Present, though future ; prior to themselves ; 96 THE COMPLAINT. 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 From vain and vile, to solid and sublime ! Unseen, thou lead'st me to delicious draughts Of inspiration, from a purer stream. And fuller of the God, than that which burst From fam'd Castalia : Nor is yet allay'd My sacred thirst ; though long my soul has rang'd Through pleasing paths of moral and cUviney By thee sustain*d, and lighted by the stars. By them best lighted are the paths of thought t lights are their days^ theh' most illumin'd hours. By day, the soul, o'erborne by life's career, Stunn'd by the din, and giddy with the glare, Reels far from reason, jostled by the throng. By day the soul is passive, all her thoughts Impos'd, precarious, broken, e're mature. By night from objects free, from passion cool. Thoughts unconti'oU'd, and unimpress'd, the bulhs Of pure election, arbitrary range. Not to the limits of one world confin'd ; But from ethereal travels, Ught on earthy As voyages drop anchox', for repose. Let Indiansy and the gay, like Indians, fond Of feather'd fopperies, the sun adore : Darkness has more divinity for me ; It strikes thought inward ; it drives back the soul To settle on herself, our point supreme ! There lies our theatre ! there sits our judge. Darkness the curtain drops o'er life's dull scene ; 'Tis the kind hand of Providence stretch'd out 'Twixt man and vanity ; 'tis Reason^s reign, And virtue'' s too ; these tutelary shades Are man's asylum from the tainted thi'ong. JVight is the good man's fHend, and gvardian too ; It no less rescues virtue, than inspires. VirtuCy for ever frail, as fair, below. Her tender nature suffers in the crowd. Nor touches on the world, without a stain : The •world 's infectious ; few bring back at eve, NIGHT FIFTH. c: Immaculate, the manners of the morn. Something we thoiiglit, is blotted ; we resolv'dy Is shaken ; we renounced, returns again. Each sakitation may slide in a sin Unthought before, or fix a foniier flaw. Nor is it strange : Lights motion, coiicojirse, noise. All scatter us abroad ; thought outward-bound. Neglectful of our h6me-aftairs, flies off In fume and dissipation, quits lier charge,' And leaves the breast unguarded to the foe. Present example gets within our guard. And acts with double force, by few repell'd. Ambition fires ambition ; love of gain Strikes, like a pestilence, from breast to breast ; Riot, pride, perfidy, blue vapours breathe ; And inhumardty is caught from man. From smiling man. A slight, a single glance. And shot at random, often has brought home A sudden fever to the throbbing licart. Of envy, rancour, or impure desire. We see, we hear, with peril ; Safety dwells Remote from multitude ; the world's a school Qiiorong, and what proficients swarm around ! We must or imitate, or disapprove ; Must list as their accomplices, or foes ; That stains our innocence ; this wounds our peacc- From Nature's birth, hence, loisdoin has been smit With sweet recess, and languish'd for the shade. This sacred shade, and solitude, what is it I 'Tis the felt presence of the Deity. Few are the faults we flatter, Avhen alone. Vice sinks in her allurements, is ungilt. And looks, like other objects, black' by night. By night, an atheist half-believes a God. Night is fair \-iilue's immemorial friend ; The conscious moon, through ev'ry distant age, lias held a lamp to loisdom, and let fall. On contempkitioi^ s eye, her purging ray. The fam'd AtJi^nian, he who woo'd from Heav'n Philosophy the fair, to dwell ^ith men, 4.nd form their manners, not inflame their pride. E 09 THE COMPLAINT. \Vhile o'er his head, as fearful to molest His lab'ring mind, the stars in silence slide, A.nd seem all gazing on their future guest, See him soliciting his ardent suit In private audience : All the live-long night. Rigid in thought, and motionless, he stands ; Nor quits his theme, or posture, 'till the sun (Rude drunkard, rising rosy from the main !) Distux'bs his nobler intellectual beam. And gives him to the tumult of the world. Hail, precious moments ! stoll'n from the black was Of murder'd Time ! Auspicious midnight, hail ! The world excluded, ev'iy passion hush'd. And open'd a calm intercourse with Heav'n, Here the soid sits in council ; ponders past^ Predestines ///^«re 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 liberty ! T am not pent in darkness ; rather say (If not too bold) in darkness I'm embowerd. l)elightful 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 ih&Xfrst fire. Fountain of animation ! whence descends Urakia, my celestial guest ! who deigns Nightly to visit me, so mean ; and now Conscious how needful discipline to man. From pleasing dalliance with the charms of 7tight My wand'ring thought recalls, to what excites Far other beat of heart ; Narcissa's tomb \ Or is it feeble Nature calls me back, And breaks my sj)irit into grief again .'' Is it a Stygian vapour in my blood .'' A cold, slow puddle, creeping through my veins ? Or is it thus ^x\\h all men P — Thus with all. What are we ? How unequal ! Now we soar. And now we sink ; to be the same, transcends Our present prowess. Dearly pays the so'id For lodging ill ; too dearly rents her clay. MGHT FIFTH. 99 Reason^ a baffled counsellor, but adds The blush of weakness, to the bane of woe. The noblest spirit fighting her hard fate. In this daxnp, dusky region, charg'd with storms, But feebly flutters, yet untaught to fly ; Or, flying, short her flight, and sure her fall. Our utmost strength, when down, to rise again ; And not to yield, though beaten, all our praise. 'Tis vain to seek in men for more than man. Though proud in promise, big in previous thought, 'Experience damps our triumph. I, who late, Emerging from the shadows of the grave. Where _g-ne/'detain'd me pris'ner, mounting high, Threw wide the gates of everlasting day, And call'd mankind to glory, shook oWpairiy J^IortaUty shook ofi", in ether pure. And struck the stars ; noiv feel my spirits fail ; They drop me from the zenith ; down I rush. Like him whom fable fledg'd with waxen wings. In sorrow drown'd — but not in sorrow lost. How wretched is the man who never mourn'd ! I dive for precious pearl in sorro^v's stream : Not so the thoughtless man that only gi-ieves ; Takes all the torment, and rejects the gain, (Inestimable gain!) and gives Heav'n leave To make him but more wretched, not more wise. If wisdom is our lesson, (and what else Ennobles man ? Wliat else have angels learnt ?) Grief/ more proficients in thy school are made, Than genius, or proitd learning e'er could boast. Voracious learning, often over-fed. Digests not into sense her motley meal. This book-case, with dark booty almost bui'st. This forager on others' wisdom, leaves Her native farm, her reason, quite untill'd. With mixt manure she surfeits the rank soil, Dung'd, but not drest ; and rich to beggai-y. A pomp untameable of weeds prevails. Her servant's wealth incumber'd ivisdom mourns. And Avhat says geimis ? " I^t the dull be loise.'' GeTUuf!, too hapd for right, c&'i prove it Avi-ong ; 100 THE COMPLAINT. And loves to boast, where blush, men less inspir'd. It pleads exemption from the laMS o1^ sense ; Considers reason as a leveller ; And scorns to share a blessing vith the crowd. That wise it could be, thinks an ample claim To glory, and to pleasure gives the rest. CnAssrs but sleeps, Abdelio is undone. Wiscb7n less shudders at a fool, than wit. But wisdom smiles, when humbled mortals weep When sorroto v. ounds the bi'east, as ploughs the glebe. And hearts obdurate feel her soft'ning show'r; Her seed celestial, then, glad -ivlsdom sows ; Her golden harvest triumphs in tlie soil. If so, Nakcissa ! welcome my Relapse ; I'll raise a tax on my calamity. And reap rich compensation from my pain. I'll range the plenteous intellectual field ; And gatlier ev'iy thought of sov'reign pow'r To chase the moral maladies of inan ; Thoughts, which may bear transplanting to the skies, Though natives of this coarse penurious soil ; Hov wholly wither there, where Seraphs sing, Refin'd, exalted, not annull'd in Heav'n ; Reason, the sun that gives them birth, the same In either ciime, though more illustrious there. These clioicely cull'd, and elegantly rang'd. Shall form a garland for Naticissa's tomb ; And, peradventure, of no fading flow'rs. Say, on what themes shall puzzled choice descend i' *• Th' importance of contemplating the tomb ; *' Why men decline it ; sJiicule's foul birth ; " The various fc!?ids of grief ; the faidts of age ; '* And deatKs dread character' — invite my song." And, first, th' importance of our end survi'y'd. Friends counsel quick dismission of our grief: Mistaken kindness ! our hearts heal too soon. Are they more kind than lie who struck tlic blow .'' Who bid it do his errand in our hearts. And banish peace, till nobler guests arrive, \nd bring it back a true and endless peace ? Calamities arv friends : As glaring day NIGHT FIFTH. 101 Of tliese unnumbei-'d lustres I'obs our sight ; JProsperity puts out unnumber'd thoughts Of import high, and light divine, to man. The man how blest! who, sick o^ gaudy scenes, (Scenes apt to thrust between us and ourselves,) Is led by choice, to take his fav'rite walk, Beneath death's gloomy, silent, cypress shades, Unpierc'd by vanity's fantastic ray ; To read his monuments, to weigh his dust. Visit his vaults, and dwell among the tombs. LoRKNZO ! read with me Nahcissa's stone ; (Narcissa was thy fav'rite ;) let us read Her moral stone ; few doctors preach so well ; . Few oi-ators so tenderly can touch The feeling heart. What pathos in the date f Apt words can strike ; and yet in them A\e see Faint images of what A\e here enjoy. What cause have ive to bnild on length of life ? Temptations seize, when fear is laid asleep ; And ill forebotlcd is our strongest guard. See from her tomb, as from an humble shrine, Truth, radiant goddess ! sallies on my soul. And puts delusion's dusky train to flight ; Dispels the mist oi* sultry passions raise. From objects >J«av, terrestrial, and obscene f And shews the real estimate of things; Which no man, uuafflicted, ever saw ; Pulls off the veil from virtue's rising charms ; Detects temptation in a thousand lies. Tnith bids me look on men, as Autiimn leaves, And all they bleed for, as the summer's dust, Driv'u by the v. hirhvind : Lighted by her beam^;, I widen my horizon, gain new powers. See things invisible, feel things remote, Am present m ith futurities ; think nought To man so foreign, as the joys possess d ; Nought so much his, as those beyond the gia%'c 1^0 folly keeps its colour in her sight; Pale -worldly luisdom loses all her chaniis ; In pompous promise, from her schemes pi-ofound, If future fate she plans, 'tis all in leaver. 103 THE COMPLAINT. Like Sibyl, unsubstantial, fleeting bliss ! At the first blast it vanishes in air. Not so, celestial : Wouldst thou know, LoHENZd^ How differ worldly •wisdom, and divine ? Just as the waning, and the waxing moon. More empty ivorldly wisdom ev'ry day ; And ev'ry day more fair her rival shines. When later, thei'e's less time to play the fool. Soon our whole term for wisdom is expir'd (Thou know'st she calls no council in the grave :) And everlasting fool is wi'it in fire, Or real wisdom wafts us to the skies. As Avorldly schemes resemble SibyVs leaves, The good man's days to Sibyl's books compare (In ancient story read, thou know'st the tale) In price still rising, as in number less. Inestimable quite his final hoiu'. For that Avho thrones can offer, offer thrones ; Insolvent worlds the purcliase cannot pay. " Oh let me die his death !" all Nature cries. " Then live his life" — All Nature faulters there. Our great physician daily to consult. To commune with the grave ^ our only cure. What grave prescribes the best*— A firiend's ; and yet '. From a friend's gi'ave, liow soon we disengage ! Ev'n to the dearest, as his marble, cold. Why are friends ravisli'd from us ? '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 tliere. Nor reason, nor affection, no, nor both Combin'd, can break the Avitchcrafts of the world. Behold th' inexorable hour at hand ! Behold th' inexorable hour forgot ! And to forget it, the chief aim of life, Though well to ponder it, is life's chief end. Is death, that ever threat'ning, ne'er remote, That all-important, and that only sure, (Come when he will) an unexpected guest Nay, though invited by the loudest calls NIGHT FIFTH. 103 Of blind impnidencef unexpected still ; Though num'rous messengei's are sent before, To warp his great arrival. What the cause. The wondrous cause, of this mysterious ill ? All Heav'n looks down, astonish'd at the sight. Is it, that life has sown hev joi/s so thick. We can't thi'ust in a single care between ? Is it, that life has such a s■^^ arm 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. Ijife glides away, Lorenzo ! like a brook ; For ever changing, unperceiv'd the change. In the same brook none ever bath'd him twice: To the same life none ever tAvice awoke. We call the brook the same ; the same we think Our life, though still more rapid in its flow ; Nor mark the imich irx'evocably laps'd. And mingled with the sea. Or sliall Ave say, (Retaining still the brook to bear us on) That life is like a Acssel on the stream r In life embark'd, yve smoothly doAvn the tide Of time descend, but not on time intent ; Amus'd, unconscious of the gliding Avave ; 'Till on a sudden Ave perceive a sliock ; W^e start, awake, look out ; Avhat see Ave there ? Our brittle bark is burst on Charon's shore. Is this the cause death flies all human thought ? Or is \tjudgme7it, by the -cvill struck blind. That domineering mistress of the soul. Like him so strong, by Dalilah the fair .'' Or is it fear turns startled reason back, From looking doAvn a precipice so steep .'' 'Tis dreadful ; and the dread is Avisely plac'd. By Nature, conscious of the make of man. A dreadful friend it is, a terror kind, A flaming SAvord to guard the tree of life. By that unaAv'd, in life's most smiling hour. The good man would i-epine ; Avould suffer joys, m. 104 THE COMPLAINT. And bui'n impatient for his promis'd skies. |fl The bad, on each punctilious pique of pride, ^ Or gloom of humour, would give rage the rein. Bound o'er the barrier, rash into the dai'k, And mar the scenes of Providence below. What groan was that, Loreistzo ? — Furies ! rise ; And drown, in your less execrable yell, JBritannia's shame. There took her gloomy flight, On wing impetuous, a black sullen soul, Blasted fi't)m hell, with hoi'rid lust of death. Thy friend, the brave, the gallant Altamont, So call'd, so thought— And theyi he fled the field. Less base the fear of death, than fear of life. O Btntain, infamous for suicide ! An island in thy manners ! far disjoin'd From the Avhole Avoi-ld of rationals beside ! In ambient waves plunge thy polluted head. Wash the dire stain, nor shock the continent. But thou be shock'd, w bile I detect the cause Of self-assault, expose the monster's birth. And i)id abhorrence hiss it round the world. Blame not thy clime, nor chide the distant sun : The sun is innocent, thy clime absolv'd : Immoral climes kind Nature never made. The cause I sing, in Eden might prevail. And proves it is thy folli/y not thy fate. The soul of man (let man in homage bow. Who naines his sovl) a native of the skies ! High -bom, and free, her freedom should maintain. Unsold, unmoitgag'd for eartli's little bribes. Th' illustrious stranger, in this foreign land. Like strangers, jealous of her dignity. Studious of home, and ardent to return. Of earth suspicious, earth's enchanted cup With cool reserve light touching, should indulge. On immortalUy, her godlike taste ; There take large draughts ; make h^r chief banquet tliere. But some reject this sustenance divine ; To beggai'ly vile appetites descend ; Ask alms of earth, for guests that came from Heav'r' - NIGHT FIFTH. iv^ Sink into slaves ; and sell for present hire, Their yich reversion, and (what shares its fate) Their native freedom, to the prince who sways This nether world. And when his payments fail. When his foul hasket goi'ges them no more, Or their pall'd palates loatlie the basket, full ; Are instantly, with wild demoniac rage, For breaking all tlie chains of Providence, And bursting their confinement ; though fast barr'd By laws divine and human ; guarded sti-ong With horrors doubled to defend the pass, The blackest, JS'^ature, or dire gndlt can raise ; And moated i^ound M'ith fathomless destruction^ Sure to receive, and whelm them in their fall. Such, Britons ! is the cause, to you unknown, Or worse,*" o'erlook'd ; o'erlook'd by magistrates. Thus criminals themselves. I grant the deed Is madness ; but the madness of the heart. And what is that i" Oui* utmost bound of guilt. A sensual unreflecting life, is big With monstrous births, and suicide, to crown The black inferi'.al brood. The bold to Iji-oak Heav'n's law supremo, and desperately rush Through sacred J\\iture''s murder, on their own. Because they never think of death, they die. 'Tis equally man's dutj', glory, gain, hX. once to slum, and meditate his end. When by the bed of languishment Ave sit, (The seat of wisdom ! if our choice, not fate,) Or, o'er our dying friends, in anguish hang. Wipe the cold dew, or stay the sinking head, Number their moments, and, in ev'iy clock. Start at the voice of an eternity ; See the dim lamp of life just feebly lift An agonizing beam, at us to gaze. Then sink again, and quiver into death. That most patlietic herald of our ow n ; How read we such sad scenes ? As sent to man In pei'fect vengeance ? No ; in pity sent. To melt him down like wax, and then impress, Indelible, deatKs image on his heart ; e2 i06 THE COMPLAINT. Bleeding for others, trembling for himself. We bleed, we tremble; w-zo fair Clarissa's fate; Wlio gave that angel boy, on whom he do.its; And dy'd to give him, orphan 'd in his birth ! Not such, Naiicissa, my distress for thee. I'll make an altar of thy' sacred tomb, To saci-ifice to wisdom. — What w.ast thou i* 108 THE COMPLAINT. *' Young, gay, ^x\(\ fortunate /" Each yields a thenxf, I'll dwell on each, to shun thought more severe ; (Heav'n knows I labour with severer still !) I'll dwell on each, and quite exhaust thy death. A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin iiins. And first, thy yoiith. What says it to grey hairs r Narcissa, I'm become thy i)upil noio — Early, bright, transient, chaste, as morning dew, She sparkled, M'as exhal'd, and Avent to Heav'n. " Time on this head has snow'd ; yet still 'tis borne Alot't ; nor thinks but on another^ s gi-ave. Cover'd with shame I speak it, age severe. Old worn-out vice sets down for virtue fair j With gi-aceless gi'avity chastising youth. That youth chastis'd surpassing in a fault, Father of all, forgetfulness of death : As if, like objects pressing on the sight. Death had advanc'd too near us to be seen : Or, that life's loan time ripen'd into right ; And men might plead prescription from the gra^v e ; Deatliless, from repetition of i-eprieve. Deathless ? far from it ! such are dead already ; Their hearts are bury'd, and the \\ oi-ld their grave. Tell me, some god ! my guardian angel! tell. What thus infatuates ? what enchantment plants The phantom of an age 'twixt us and death Already at the door ? He knocks, we hear him, And yet we will not hear. Wliat mail defends Our untouch 'd heails ? What miracle tm-ns off The pointed thought, which from a thousand quivers Is daily darted, and is daily shunn'd .-' We stand, as in a battle, throngs on throngs Around us falling ; wounded oft om-selves ; Tiiough bleeding with our wounds, immortal still ! We see time's furi'ows on another's brow. And death intrench'd, preparing his assault ; How few themselves hi that just mirror see ! Or, seeing, draw their inference as strong ! Tliere death is certain ; doubtful Jiere : He 7nust, And soon ; we 7nay, within an age, expu-e. NIGHT FIFTH. 109 Though grey our heads, our thoughts and aims are gi'een ; Like damag'd clocks, whose hand and bell dissent, Folly sings six, while J^'ature points at twelve. Absurd longevity ! More, more, it cries : More life, more wealth, more trash of ev'ry kind. And wherefore mad for more, when relish fails ? Object and appetite must club for joy ; ' Shall /b% labour hard to mend the bow, Baubfes, I mean, that strike us from -without^ While Matiire is relaxing ev'ry string ? Ask thought for joy ; grow rich, and hoard •mithin. Think you the soul, when this life's rattles cease. Has nothing of more manly to succeed ? Contract the taste immortal ; learn ev'n now To relish what aloiie subsists hereafter. Divine, or none, henceforth your joys for ever. Of aga the glory is, to ivish to die. That wish is praise and promise ; it applauds Past life, and promises oui' future bliss. What weakness see not children in theii' sires Grand-climacterical absurdities ! Grey-hair'd authority, to faults of youth. How shocking ! It makes folly thrice a fool ; And oui\first childhood might our last despise. Peace and esteem is all that age can hope. Nothing but luisdom gives the Jirst ; the last. Nothing, but the repute of being -wise. Folly bars botli ; our age is quite undone. What folly can be ranker .'' Like our shadows. Our wishes lengthen, as our sun declines. No wish should loiter, then, this side the gi'ave. Our hearts should leave the world, before the knell Calls for our carcasses to mend the soil. Enough to live in tempest, die in port ; Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat Defects o^ judgment, and the will subdue ; Walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore Of that vast ocean it must sail so soon ; And put good -works on board ; and M-ait the wind That shortly blows us into worlds luiknown : liO THE COMPLAINT. If uncousider'd too, a dreadful scene ! All should be prophets to themselves ; foresee Theiv fuUire fate ; thexr future fate foretaste ; This art would waste the bitterness of death. The thought of death alone, the /ear destroys. A disaffection to that precious thought Is more than midiiight darkness on the soul, AVhich sleeps beneath it, on a precipice, Pufi'M off* by the first blast, and lost for ever. Dost ask, Lorenzo, why so warmly prest, By repetition hammer'd on thine ear, The thought of death ? That thought is the machine. The grand machine, that heaves us from the dust, And rears us into men. That thought ply'd home, Will soon reduce the ghastly precipice O'er-hanging hell, will soften the descent. And gently slope our passage to the grave : How warmly to be wish'd ! What heart of flesh Would trifle with tremendous ? dare extremes ? Yawn o'er the fate of infinite ? What hand. Beyond 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 destiny ; and ere her scissars cut >Iy thread of life, to break this tougher thread Of moral death, that ties me to the world. Sting thou my slumb'ring reason to send forth A thought of observation on the foe ; To sally, and survey the rapid march Of his ten thousand messengers to man ; Who, JEHU-Iike, behind him turns them all. All accident apart, by JSi'ature sign'd. My warrant is gone out, though dormant yet ; Perhaps behind one moment lui-ks my fate. Must I Xh^nforioard only look for death ? Backward I turn mine eye, and find him there ■ Man is a self-survivor ev'ry year. Man, like a stream, is in pei'X)ctual flow Death's a destroyer of quotidian prey. NIGHT FIFTH. lU My youth, my noon-tide, his ; my yesterday ; The bold invader shares the present hour. Each moment on the former shuts the grave. While man is growing, hfe is in decrease ; And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb. Our birth is nothing but our death begun ; As tapers m aste, that instant they take fire. Sliall we tlien fear, lest that should come to pass, Which comes to i)ass each moment of our lives ? If fear we must, let that death tuni us pale. Which murders strength and ardour ,- what remains Should I'ather call on death, than dread his call. Ye partners of my fault, and my decline ! Thoughtless of death, but when your neighbour's knell fRude visitant !) knocks hard at your dull sense. And with its thunder scarce obtains your ear ! Be death your theme in ev'ry place and hour ; Xor longer want, ye monumental sires ! A brother tomb to tell you, you shall die. That death you dread (so great is Nature's skill !) Know, you shall court, before you shall enjoy. But you are learn'd ; in volumes, deep you sit ; In wisdom, shallow : Pompous ignorance ! Would you be still more learned than the learn'd ? lieani well to know how much need not be known. And what that knowledge, which impairs your se/tae. Our needful knowledge, like our needful food, Unhedg'