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What groan was that, Lorenzo ?-Furies! rise, Then sink again, and quiver into death,
That most pathetic herald of our own!
In perfect vengeance? No; in pity sent;
The mind turns fool, before the cheek is dry.
Our quick-returning folly cancels all;
As the tide rushing rases what is writ
And trace these briny rivulets to their springs.
Our funeral tears from different causes rise,
As if from separate cisterns in the soul,
Of various kinds, they flow. From tender hearts,
Like Moses' smitten rock, gush out amain.
Some weep to share the fate of the deceas'd,
(there. And thus, without a blush, commend themselves. There take large draughts; make her chief banquet Some mourn, in proof, that something they could But some reject this sustenance divine ;
love : To beggarly vile appetites descend ;
They weep not to relieve their grief, but show.
As conscious all their love is in arrear.
While liquid pearl runs trickling down their cheek!
And celebrate, like Charles, their own decease.
Such, Britons! is the cause, to you unknown, As deep in indiscretion, as in woe.
Knows not it speaks to her, and her alone.
And full as short! The cruel grief soon lam’d,
They make a pastime of the stingless tale ;
Far as the deep-resounding knell they spread
In making folly flourish still more fair,
When the sick soul, her wonted stay withdrawn,
Reclines on earth, and sorrows in the dust;
Instead of learning, there, her true support, Ask thought for joy; grow rich, and hoard within.
That wish is praise, and promise; it applauds
What weakness see not children in their sires ? So wept Aurelia, till the destin'd youth
How shocking! it makes folly thrice a fool,
And our first childhood might our last despise. Who gave that angel boy, on whom he dotes ; Peace and esteem is all that age can hope. And died to give him, orphan'd in his birth! Nothing but wisdom gives the first ; the last, Not such, Narcissa, my distress for thee.
Nothing, but the repute of being wise. I'll make an altar of thy sacred tomb,
Folly bars both ; our age is quite undone. To sacrifice to wisdom. What wast thou?
What folly can be ranker? Like our shadows, Young, gay, and fortunate !" Each yields a theme. Our wishes lengthen, as our sun declines. I'll dwell on each, to shun thought more severe; No wish should loiter, then, this side the grave. (Heaven knows I labor with severer still!)
Our hearts should leave the world, before the knell I'll dwell on each, and quite exhaust thy death. Calls for our carcasses to mend the soil. A soul without reflection, like a pile
Enough to live in tempest, die in port: Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.
Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat And, first, thy youth. What says it to grey hairs ? Defects of judgment, and the will subdue ; Narcissa, I'm become thy pupil now
Walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore Early, bright, transient, chaste, as morning dew, Or that vast ocean it must sail so soon; She sparkled, was exhal'd, and went to Heaven. And put good-works on board ; and wait the wind Time on this head has snow'd ; yet still 'tis borne That shortly blows us into worlds unknown; Alofi; nor thinks but on another's grave.
If unconsider'd 100, a dreadful scene! Cover'd with shame I speak it, age severe
All should be prophets to themselves; foresee Old worn-out vice sets down for virtue fair; Their future fate ; their future fate foretaste ; With graceless gravity, chastising youth,
This art would waste the bitterness of death. That youth chastis'd surpassing in a fault.
The thought of death alone, the fear destroys. Father of all, forgetfulness of death :
A disaffection to that precious thought As if, like objects passing on the sight,
Is inore than midnight darkness on the soul, Death had advanc'd too near us to be seen :
Which sleeps beneath it, on a precipice, Or, that life's loan time ripen'd into right;
Puff'd off by the first blast, and lost for ever. And men might plead prescription from the grave; Dost ask, Lorenzo, why so warmly prest, Deathless, from repetition of reprieve.
By repetition hammer'd on thine ear, Deathless ? far from it! such are dead already: The thought of death? That thought is the machine, Their hearts are buried, and the world their grave. The grand machine! that heaves us from the dust,
Tell me, some god! my guardian angel! tell, And rears us into men. That thought, plied home, What thus infatuates? what enchantment plants Will soon reduce the ghastly precipice The phantom of an age, 'twixt us and death O'er-hanging Hell, will sotien the descent, Already at the door? He knocks, we hear, And gently slope our passage to the grave; And yet we will not hear. What mail defends How warmly to be wish'd! What heart of flesh Our untouch'd hearts? What miracle turns off Would trifle with tremendous ? dare extremes ! The pointed thought, which from a thousand quivers Yawn o'er the fate of infinite ? What hand, Is daily darted, and is daily shunn'd?
Beyond the blackest brand of censure bold, We stand, as in a battle, throngs on throngs (To speak a language too well known to thee,) Around us falling; wounded oft ourselves ; Would at a moment give its all to chance, Though bleeding with our wounds, immortal still !
And stamp the die for an eternity ? We see Time's furrows on another's brow,
Aid me, Narcissa, aid me to keep pace And Death intrench'd, preparing his assault. With Destiny; and ere her scissars cut How few themselves in that just mirror sce! My thread of life, to break this tougher thread Or, seeing, draw their inference as strong!
Of moral death, that ties me to the world. There death is certain; doubtful here: he must, Sting thou my slumbering reason to send forth And soon; w may, within an age, expire. (green; A thought of observation on the foe; Though grey our heads, our thoughts and aims are To sally; and survey the rapid march Like damag'd clocks, whose hand and bell dissent; Of his ten thousand messengers to man; Folly sings six, while Nature points at twelve. Who, Jehu-like, behind him turns them all.
Absurd longevity! More, more, it cries : All accident apart, by Nature signd, More lise, more wealth, more trash of every kind. My warrant is gone out, though dormant yet; And wherefore mad for more, when relish fails? Perhaps behind one moment lurks my fate. Object, and appetite, must club for joy ;
Must I then forward only look for Death? Shall folly labor hard to mend the bow,
Backward I turn mine eye, and find him there Baubles, I mean, that strike us from without, Man is a self-survivor every year. While Nature is relaxing every string?
Man, like a stream, is in perpetual flow
Death 's a destroyer of quotidian prey.
And opens more the character of death;
“ Give Death his due, the wretched, and the old ; Each moment on the former shuts the grave. E'en let him sweep his rubbish to the grave; While man is growing, life is in decrease ;
Let him not violate kind Nature's laws, And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb.
But own man bom to live as well as die." Our birth is nothing but our death begun;
Wretched and old thou givist him; young and gay As tapers waste that instant they take fire. He takes; and plunder is a tyrant's joy.
Shall we then fear, lest that should come to pass, What if I prove, That furthest from the fear, Which comes to pass each moment of our lives? Are often nearest to the stroke of fate ?" If fear we must, let that death turn us pale,
All more than common, menaces an end.
As Nature's opposites wage endless war,
Death took swift vengeance. As he life detests, A brother tomb to tell you ye shall die.
More life is still more odious; and, reduc'd That death you dread (so great is Nature's skill!) By conquest, aggrandizes more his power. Know, you shall court before you shall enjoy. But wherefore aggrandiz'd ? By Heaven's decree,
But you are learn'd; in volumes, deep you sit; To plant the soul on her eternal guard, In wisdom, shallow : pompous ignorance !
In awful expectation of our end. Would you be still more learned than the learn'd? Thus runs Death's dread commission: “ Strike, but so Learn well to know how much need not be known, As most alarms the living by the dead." And what that knowledge, which impairs your sense. Hence stratagem delights him, and surprise, Our needful knowledge, like our needful food, And cruel sport with man's securities. Unhedg'd, lies open in life's common field; Not simple conquest, triumph is his aim : And bids all welcome to the vital feast.
And, where least fear'd, there conquest triumphs most. You scorn what lies before you in the page This proves my bold assertion not 100 bold. Of Nature, and Experience, moral truth :
What are his arts to lay our fears asleep? of indispensable, eternal fruit;
Tiberian arts his purposes wrap up Fruit, on which mortals feeding, turn to gods : In deep dissimulation's darkest night. And dive in science for distinguish'd names, Like princes unconfest in foreign courts, Dishonest fomentation of your pride !
Who travel under cover, Death assumes Sinking in virtue, as you rise in fame.
The name and look of life, and dwells arnong us. Your learning, like the lunar beam, affords
He takes all shapes that serve his black designs : Light, but not heat; it leaves you undevout, Though master of a wider empire far Frozen at heart, while speculation shines.
Than that o'er which the Roman eagle flew.
Like Nero, he's a fiddler, charioteer,
His disarray'd oblation he devours.
He most affects the forms least like himself, Together shook in his impartial urn,
His slender self. Hence burly corpulence Come forth at random : or, if choice is made, Is his familiar wear, and sleek disguise. The choice is quite sarcastic, and insults
Behind the rosy bloom he loves to lurk, All bold conjecture, and fond hopes of man. Or ambush in a smile ; or wanton dive What countless multitudes not only leave,
In dimples deep; love's eddies, which draw in But deeply disappoint us, by their deaths! Unwary hearts, and sink them in despair. Though great our sorrow, greater our surprise. Such, on Narcissa's couch he loiter'd long
Like other tyrants, Death delights to smite, Unknown; and, when detected, still was seen What, smitten, most proclaims the pride of power, To smile ; such peace has innocence in death! And arbitrary nod. His joy supreme,
Most happy they! whom least his arts deceive. To bid the wretch survive the fortunate;
One eye on Death, and one full fix'd on Heaven, The feeble wrap th'athletic in his shroud; Becomes a mortal, and immortal man. And weeping fathers build their children's tomb: Long on his wiles a piqu'd and jealous spy, Me thine, Narcissa -What though short thy date? I've seen, or dreamt 1 saw, the tyrant dress ; Virtue, not rolling suns, the mind matures. Lay by his horrors, and put on his smiles. That life is long, which answers life's great end. Say, Muse, for thou remember'st, call it back, The time that bears no fruit, deserves no name; And show Lorenzo the surprising scene; The man of wisdom is the man of years.
If 'twas a dream, his genius can explain. In hoary youth Methusalems may die;
'Twas in a circle of the gay I stood. O how misdated on their flattering tombs!
Death would have enter'd; Nature push'd him back,
His point he gain'd. Then artfully dismist
2 X 2
His mcagre aspect, and his naked bones;
With recent honors, bloom'd with every bliss, In gratitude for plumping up his prey,
Set up in ostentation, made the gaze, A pamper'd spendthrift; whose fantastic air, The gaudy centre, of the public eye, Well-fashion à figure, and cockaded brow,
When fortune ihus has toss d her child in air, He took in change, and underneath the pride Snatcht from the covert of an humble state, Of costly linen, tuck'd his filthy shroud.
How often have I seen him dropt at once, His crooked bow he straiten'd to a cane;
Our morning's envy! and our evening's sigh! And hid his deadly shafts in Myra's eye.
As if her bounties were the signal given, The dreadful masquerader, thus equipt,
|The flowery wreath to mark the sacrifice, Out-sallies on adventures. Ask you where? And call Death's arrows on the destin'd prey. Where is he not? For his peculiar haunts,
High fortune seems in cruel league with fale. Let this suffice; sure as night follows day, Ask you for what? To give his war on man Death treads in pleasure's footsteps round the world. The deeper dread, and more illustrious spoil; When pleasure treads the paths which reason shuns. Thus to keep daring mortals more in awe. When, against reason, riot shuts the door,
And burns Lorenzo sull for the sublime
or life? To hang his airy nest on high,
Yet peace begins just where ambition ends.
What makes man wretched ? Happiness denied ? As absent far; and when the revel burns,
Lorenzo! no: "I'is happiness disdain'd.
Scarce with more sudden terror and surprise, A tempest to warm transport near of kin.
And all our ecstasies are wounds to peace;
And now, Lorenzo, dost thou wrap thy soul And since thy peace is dear, ambitious yonth! In soft security, because unknown
Of fortune fond ! as thoughtless of thy fate! Which moment is commission'd to destroy ?
As late I drew Death's picture, lo stir up In deall's uncertainty thy danger lies.
Thy wholesome fears; now, drawn in contrast, see Is death uncertain? Therefore thou be fit; Gay Fortune's, thy vain hopes to reprimand. Fixt as a sentinel, all eye, all car,
See, high in air, the sportive goddess hangs, All expectation of the coming foe.
Unlocks her casket, spreads her glittering ware, Ronse, stand in arms, nor lean against thy spear; And calls the giddy winds to puff abroad Lest slumber steal one moment o'er thy soul, Her random bounties o'er the gaping throng. And fate surprise thee nodding. Watch, be strong ; All rush rapacious ; friends o'er trodden friends; Thus give each day the merit, and renown, Sons o'er their fathers; subjects o'er their kings; Of dying well; though doom'd but once to die. Priests o'er their gods; and lovers o'er the fair, Nor let life's period hidden, (as from most,) (Still more adorn'd) to snatch the golden shower. Hide too from thee the precious use of life.
Gold glitters most, where virtue shines no more ; Early, not sudden, was Narcissa's fate.
As stars from absent suns have leave to shine. Soon, not surprising, Death his visit paid.
O what a precious pack of votaries
Pour in, all opening in their idol's praise ;
Untasted, through mad appetite for more ; Death's dreadful advent is the mark of man ; Gorg'd to the throat, yet lean and ravenous still. And every thought that misses it, is blind. Sagacious all, to trace the smallest game, Fortune, with youth and gaiely, conspir'd
And bold to seize the greatest. If (blest chance !) To weave a triple wreath of happiness
Court-zephyrs sweetly breathe, they lanch, they fiy, (If happiness on Earth) to crown her brow. O'er jusi, o'er sacred, all-torbidden ground, And could Death charge through such a shining Drunk with the burning scent of place or power, shield ?
Staunch to the foot of lucre, till they die. That shining shield invites the tyrant's spear, Or, if for men you take them, as I mark As if to damp our elevated aims,
Their manners, thou their various fates survey. And strongly preach humility to man.
With aim mis-measur’d, and impetuous speed,
Some darting, strike their ardent wish far off,
From some, by sudden blasts, 'tis whirl'd away, And sheath his shafts in all the pride of life. And ludg'd in bosoms that ne'er dreamt of gain. When Anoded with abundance, purpled o'er To some it sticks so close, that, when torn off,
Torn is the man, and mortal is the wound. Survive myself ?—That cures all other woe.
Close-twisted with the fibres of the heart!
Which, broken, break them; and drain off the soul
"Tis the survivor dies—My heart, no more.
NIGHT THE SIXTH.
THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED.
IN TWO PARTS.
Containing the Nature, Proof, and Importance, of And art thou still a glutton of bright gold ?
Where, among other Things, Glory and Riches are As when some stately growth of oak, or pine,
particularly considered. Which nods aloft, and proudly spreads her shade, The Sun's defiance, and the flock's defence;
TO TIIE RIGHT HON. HENRY PELHAM, FIRST LORD
COMMISSIONER OF THE TREASURY, AND CHANCELBy the strong strokes of laboring hinds subdued,
LOR OF THE EXCHEQUER.
These high-aim'd darts of Death, and these alone, gion than this. The dispute about religion, and Should I collect, my quiver would be full.
the practice of it, seldom go together. The shorter, A quiver, which, suspended in mid air,
therefore, the dispute, the better.
I think it may Or near Heaven's Archer, in the zodiac, hung, be reduced to this single question, Is man immor(So could it be,) should draw the public eye,
tal, or is he not? If he is not, all our disputes are The gaze and contemplation of mankind!
mere amusements, or trials of skill. In this case, A constellation awful, yet benign,
truth, reason, religion, which give our discourses To guide the gay through life's lempestuous wave; such pomp and solemnity, are (as will be shown) Nor suffer them to strike the common rock,
mere empty sound, without any meaning in them. " From greater danger, to grow more secure,
But if man is immortal, it will behove him to be And, wrapt in happiness, forget their fate."
very serious about eternal consequences ; or, in Lysander, happy past the common lot,
other words, to be truly religious. And this great Was warnd of danger, but too gay to fear.
fundamental truth, unestablished, or unawakened He wood the fair Aspasia : she was kind :
in the minds of men, is, I conceive, the real In youth, form, fortune, fame, they both were blest; source and support of all our infidelity; how reAll who knew, envied; yet in envy lov'd:
mote soever the particular objections advanced Can fancy form more finisht happiness ?
may seem to be from it. Fixt was the nuptial hour. Her stately dome Sensible appearances affect most men much more Rose on the sounding beach. The glittering spires than abstract reasonings; and we daily see bodies Float in the wave, and break against the shore : drop around us, but the soul is invisible. The So break those glittering shadows, human joys. power which inclination has over the judgment, is The faithless morning smild: he takes his leave, greater than can be well conceived by those that To re-embrace, in ecstasies, at eve.
have not had an experience of it; and of what The rising storm forbids. The news arrives :
numbers is it the sad interest that souls should not Untold, she saw it in her servant's eye.
survive! The heathen world confessed, that they She felt it seen (her heart was apt to feel);
rather hoped, than firmly believed, immortality! And, drown'd, without the furious ocean's aid, And how many heathens have we still amongst In suffocating sorrows, shares his tomb.
us! The sacred page assures us, that life and imNow, round the sumptuous, bridal monument, mortality is brought to light by the Gospel : but by The guilty billows innocently roar;
how many is the Gospel rejected, or overlooked! And the rough sailor, passing, drops a tear;
From these considerations, and from my being A tear?-Can tears suffice ?-But not for me. accidentally privy to the sentiments of some par. How vain our efforts! and our arts how vain! ticular persons, I have been long persuaded that The distant train of thought I took to shun,
most, if not all, our infidels (whatever name they Has thrown me on my fate-- These died together; take, and whatever scheme, for argument's sake, Happy in ruin! undivorc'd by death!
and to keep themselves in countenance, they paOr ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace
tronize) are supported in their deplorable error, Narcissa! Pity bleeds at thought of thee.
by some doubt of their immortality, at the bottom. Yet thou wasi only near me; not myself.
And I am satisfied, that men once thoroughly con