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Were half so sad, as one benighted mind,
Sinking from bad 10 worse ; few years, the sport Which gropes for happiness, and meets despair. Of fortune; then the morsel of despair. How, like a widow in her weeds, the night,
Say, then, Lorenzo! (for thou know'st it well) Amid her glimmering tapers, silent sits!
What's vice ?-Mere want of compass in our How sorrowful, how desolate, she weeps
thought. Perpetual dews, and saddens Nature's scene! Religion, what ?—The proof of common-sense. A scene more sad sin makes the darken'd soul, How art thou hooled, where the least prevails ! All comfort kills, nor leaves one spark alive. Is it my fault, if these truths call thee fool?
Though blind of heart, still open is thine eye: And thou shalt never be miscall'd by me. Why such magnificence in all thou seest? Can neither shame, nor terror, stand ihy friend? Of malter's grandeur, know, one end is this : And art thou still an insect in the mire ? To tell the rational, who gazes on it
How, like thy guardian angel, have I flown; “Though that immensely great, still greater he, Snatch a thee from Earth ; escorted thee through al! Whose breast, capacious, can embrace, and lodge, Th' ethereal armies; walk'd thee, like a god, Unburthen'd, Nature's universal scheme; Through splendors of first magnitude, arrang'u Can grasp creation with a single thought;
On either hand ; clouds thrown beneath thy feet; Creation grasp; and not exclude its Sire.”
Close-cruis'd on the bright Paradise of God;
Rank poison; first fermenting to mere froth,
How shocking is all joy, whose end is sure!
Why then persist !--No mortal ever liv'd, (Thou, to whose palate glory is so sweet) But, dying, he pronounc'd (when words are true) To wade into perdition, through contempt, The whole that charms thee, absolutely vain ; Not of poor bigots only, but thy own? Vain, and far worse !—Think thou, with dying men; For I have peep'd into thy cover'd heart, O condescend to think as angels think!
And seen it blush beneath a boastful brow; O tolerale a chance for happiness!
For, by strong guilt's most violent assault, Our nature such, ill choice insures ill fate; Conscience is but disabled, not destroy'd. And Hell had been, though there had been no God. O thou most awful being; and most vain! Dost thou not know, my new astronomer!
Thy will, how frail! how glorious is thy power!
A butterfly comes 'cross, and both are fied.
If there is force in reason ; or, in sounds
For think not thou hast heard all this from me; When slumber locks the general lip, and dreams
Enchantment, not infernal, but divine!
That draw the curtain round Night's ebon throne, Rais'd in enjoyment, as in worth they rise,
And raise ideas, solemn as the scene ! Arrive at length (if worthy such approach) By Night, and ail of awful, Night presents At that blest fountain-head, from which they To thought or sense (of awful much, to both, stream;
| The goddess brings !) By these her trembling fires Where conflict past redoubles present joy ; Like Vesta's, ever-burning; and, like hers, And present joy looks forward on increase; Sacred to thoughts immaculate, and pure! And that, on more ; no period! every step
By these bright orators, that prove,
praise, A double boon! a promise, and a bliss."
And press theo to revere the Deity ; How easy sits this scheme on human hearts ! Perhaps, too, aid thee, when rever'd awhile, It suits their make; it soothes their vast desires; To reach his throne ; as stages of the soul, Passion is pleas'd; and reason asks no more; Through which, at different periods, she shall pass, "Tis rational! 'tis great !-But what is thine? Refining gradual, for her final height, It darkens! shocks! excruciates! and confounds! And purging off some dross at every sphere ! Leaves us quite naked, both of help, and hope, By this dark pall thrown o'er the silent world!
By the world's kings, and kingdoms, most renown'd, The ship-boy's hammock, or the soldier's straw,
Whence sorrow never chas'd thee ; with thee bring
Delicious of well-tasted, cordial, rest;
When tir'd with vain rotations of the day,
When will it end with me? The monarch's terror! and the sexton's trade!
-“THOU only know'st, By pompous obsequies that shun the day,
Thou, whose broad eye the future, and the past, The torch funereal, and the nodding plume, Joins to the present; making one of three Which makes poor man's humiliation proud; To mortal thought! Thou know'st, and thou alone, Boast of our ruin! triumph of our dust!
All-knowing !-all-unknown!-and yet well-known, By the damp vault that weeps o'er royal bones; Near, though remote ! and, though unfathom'd, And the pale lamp that shows the ghastly dead,
felt! More ghastly through the thick incumbent gloom! And, though invisible, for ever seen! By visits (if there are) from darker scenes,
And seen in all! the great and the minute : The gliding spectre! and the groaning grave! Each globe above with its gigantic race, By groans, and graves, and miseries that groan Each flower, each leaf, with its small people For the grave's shelter! By desponding men,
swarm’d, Senseless to pains of death, from pangs of guilt! (Those puny vouchers of Omnipotence !) By guilt's last audit! By yon Moon in blood, To the first thought, that asks, •From whence !' The rocking firmament, the falling stars,
declare And thunder's last discharge, great Nature's knell! Their common source. Thou fountain, running o'er By second chaos and eternal night."
In rivers of communicated joy! Be wise-Nor let Philander blame my charm; Who gav'st us speech for far, far humbler themes! But own not ill-discharg'd my double debt, Say, by what name shall I presume to call Love to the living; duty to the dead !
Him I see burning in these countless suns, For know I'm but executor; he left
As Moses, in the bush? Illustrious Mind!
The whole creation, less, far less, to thee,
Heaves underneath the thought, too big for birth!
“Great system of perfections! mighty cause For his sake-love thyself : example strikes Of causes mighty! cause uncaus'd! sole root All human hearts; a bad example more ;
Of Nature, that luxuriant growth of God!
Last link admits a period, who can tell ?
Father of all that is or seen, or sees!. If careless of Lorenzo! spare, Oh! spare
Father of all that is, or shall arise ! Florello's father, and Philander's friend!
Father of this immeasurable mass Florello's father ruin'd, ruins him;
of matter multiform ; or dense, or rare;
Minute, or passing bound! in each extreme
Father of these bright millions of the night!
And thrown the gazer on his knee-Or, say,
Is appellation higher still, thy choice?
Of high paternal glory; rich endowed
With various measures, and with various modes
More pale, or bright from day divine, to break
Till the last ripens into lustre strong, (Wont to return with our returning peace)
Of next approach to godhead. Father fond
With powers to please thee ! not of passive ply
To laws they know not; beings lodg'd in seats On a poor breathing particle in dust,
Or, lower, an immortal in his crimes.
His crimes forgive! forgive his virtues, too! Of this proud, populous, well-policied,
Those smaller faults, half-converts to the right. Though boundless habitation, plann'd by thee: Nor let me close these eyes, which never more Whose several clans their several climates suit; May see the Sun (though night's descending scale And transposition, doubtless, would destroy. Now weighs up morn), unpitied, and unblest! Or, Oh! indulge, immortal King, indulge
In thy displeasure dwells eternal pain; A title less august indeed, but more
Pain, our aversion; pain, which strikes me nou); Endearing; ah! how sweet in human ears, And, since all pain is terrible to man, Sweet in our ears, and triumph in our hearts ! Though transient, terrible ; at thy good hour, Father of immortality to man!
Gently, ah gently, lay me in my bed, A theme that lately* set my soul on fire
My clay-cold bed! by nature now, so near; And thou the next! yet equal! thou, by whom By nature, near; still nearer by disease! That blessing was convey'd ; far more! was bought: Till then, be this, an emblem of my grave: Ineffable the price! by whom all worlds
Let it out-preach the preacher; every night Were made ; and one redeem'd! illustrious light Let it out-cry the boy at Philip's ear; From light illustrious! Thou, whose regal power, That tongue of death! that herald of the tomb! Finite in time, but infinite in space,
And when the shelter of thy wing implor'd) On more than adamantine basis fixed,
My senses, sooth'd, shall sink in sofi repose, O'er more, far more, than diadems and thrones, O sink this truth still deeper in my soul, Inviolably reigns; the dread of gods !
Suggested by my pillow, sign'd by fate, And Oh! the friend of man! beneath whose foot, First, in fate's volume, at the page of manAnd by the mandate of whose awful nod,
Man's sickly soul, though turn'd and toss'd for All regions, revolutions, fortunes, fates, Of high, of low, of mind, and matter, roll
From side to side, can rest on nought but thee : Through the short channels of expiring time, Here, in full trust ; hereafter, in full joy ; Or shoreless ocean of eternity,
On thee, the promis'd, sure, eternal down Calm, or tempestuous (as thy spirit breathes), Of spirits, toil'd in travel through this vale. In absolute subjection !- And, O thou
Nor of that pillow shall my soul despond ; The glorious third ! distinct, not separate!
For-Love almighty! Love almighty! (sing, Beaming from both! with both incorporate; Exult, creation!) Love almighty, reigns! And (strange to tell !) incorporate with dust! That death of death! that cordial of despair! By condescension, as thy glory, great,
And loud eternity's triumphant song! Enshrin'd in man! of human hearts, if pure,
“Of whom, no more :- For, Othou PatronDivine inhabitant! the tie divine
God! Of Heaven with distant Earth! by whom I trust, Thou God and mortal! Thence more God to man ! (If not inspir'd) uncensur'd this address
Man's theme eternal! man's eternal theme! To thee, to them-lo whom !—Mysterious power! Thou canst not 'scape uninjur'd from our praise. Reveal'd !-yet unreveald! darkness in light! Uninjur'd from our praise can he escape, Number in unity! our joy! our dread !
Who, disembosom'd from the Father, bows The triple bolt that lays all wrong in ruin! The Heaven of Heavens, to kiss the distant Earth! That animates all right, the triple sun!
Breathes out in agonies a sinless soul! Sun of the soul! her never-setting sun!
Against the cross, Death's iron sceptre breaks! Triune, unutterable, unconceiv'd,
From famish'd ruin plucks her human prey! Absconding, yet demonstrable, great God!
Throws wide the gates celestial to his fots ! Greater than greatest! Better than the best! Their gratitude, for such a boundless debi, Kinder than kindest! with soft pily's eye,
Deputes their suffering brothers to receive! Or (stronger still to speak it) with thine own, And, if deep human guilt in payment fails; From thy bright home, from that high firmament, As deeper guilt prohibits our despair! Where thou, from all eternity, hast dwelt;
Enjoins it, as our duty, to rejoice!
And (to close all) omnipotenily kind,
What words are these-And did they come from Through-Whai? confounding interval! through
And were they spoke to man? to guilty man? And more than laboring fancy can conceive ; What are all mysteries to love like this? Through radiant ranks of essences unknown; The songs of angels, all the melodies Through hierarchies from hierarchies detach'd Of choral gods, are wafied in the sound; Round various banners of omnipotence,
Heal and exhilarate the broken heart; With endless change of rapturous duties fir'd; Though plung’d, before, in horrors dark as night : Through wondrous beings interposing swarms, Rich prelibation of consummate joy! All clustering at the call, to dwell in thee;
Nor wait we dissolution to be blest. Through this wide waste of worlds! this vista vast, This final effort of the moral Muse, All sanded o'er with suns; suns turn'd to night How justly titled '1 nor for me alone : Before thy feeblest beam-Look down-down— For all that read; what spirit of support, down,
What heights of Consolation, crown my song!
| Prov. chap. viii.
1 The Consolation.
* Nights the Sixth and Seventh.
3 B 2
Then, farewell night! of darkness, now, no
LOVE OF FAME,
IN SEVEN CHARACTERISTICAL SATIRES.
-Fulgente trahit constrictos gloria curru
TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF DORSET.
-Tanto major Famæ sitis est, quam
Jud. Sat. ..
And patronize a Muse you cannot fear.
To poets sacred is a Dorset's name; The truth of things new-blazing in its eye,
Their wonted passport through the gates of Fame; Look back, astonishid, on the ways
It bribes the partial reader into praise, Whose lives' whole drift is to forget their graves !
And throws a glory round the shelter'd lays : And when our present privilege is past,
The dazzled judgment fewer faults can see, To scourge us with due sense of its abuse,
And gives applause to Blackmore, or to me. The same astonishment will seize us all.
But you decline the mistress we pursue : What then must pain us, would preserve us now.
Others are fond of Fame, but Fame of you. Lorenzo! 'tis not yet too late ; Lorenzo!
Instructive Satire, true to virtue's cause! Seize wisdom, ere 'tis torment to be wise ;
Thou shining supplement of public laws! That is, seize wisdom, ere she seizes thee.
When flatter'd crimes of a licentious age
Reproach our silence, and demand our rage;
When the Law shows her teeth, but dares not bite Thus, darkness aiding intellectual light,
And South-sea treasures are not brought to light; And sacred silence whispering truths divine,
When churchmen Scripture for the classics quit, And truths divine converting pain to peace,
Polite apostates from God's grace to wit; My song the midnight raven has outwing'd, When men grow great from their revenue spent, And shot, ambitious of unbounded scenes,
And fly from bailiffs into parliament; Beyond the flaming limits of the world,
When dying sinners, to blot out their score, Her gloomy flight. But what avails the flight Bequeath the church the leavings of a whore ; Of fancy, when our hearts remain below?
To chase our spleen, when themes like these increase, Virtue abounds in flatteries and foes;
Shall panegyric reign, and censure cease? 'Tis pride to praise her; penance to perform.
Shall poesy, like law, turn wrong to right, To more than words, to more than worth of And dedication wash an Æthiop white, tongue,
Set up each senseless wretch for nature's boast, Lorenzo! rise, at this auspicious hour;
On whom praise shines, as trophies on a post ? An hour, when Heaven's most intimate with man;
Shall funeral eloquence her colors spread, When, like a falling star, the ray divine
And scatter roses on the wealthy dead? Glides swift into the bosom of the just ;
Shall authors smile on such illustrious days, And just are all, determind to reclaim;
And satirize with nothing—but their praise? Which sets that title high within thy reach.
Why slumbers Pope, who leads the tuneful train Awake, then: thy Philander calls : awake!
Nor hears that virtue, which he loves, complain ? Thou, who shalt wake, when the creation sleeps ;
Donne, Dorset, Dryden, Rochester, are dead, When, like a taper, all these suns expire ;
And guilt's chief foe, in Addison, is fled; When Time, like him of Gaza in his wrath,
Congreve, who, crown'd with laurels, fairly won, Plucking the pillars that support the world,
Sits smiling at the goal, while others run, In Nature's ample ruins lies entomb'd;
He will not write ; and (more provoking still .) And midnight, universal midnight! reigns.
Ye gods! he will not write, and Mævius will.
Doubly distrest, what author shall we find,
The love of praise, howe'er conceal'd by art, Aid me, great Homer! with thy epic rules,
A knave or fool should perish in each line;
He stands for fame on his forefathers' feet,
What is not proud ? the pimp is proud to see If virtues at his noble hands you crave,
You bid him raise his father's from the grave.
Nobles look backward, and so lose the race.
Nothing—but merit in a low estate.
To virtue's humblest son let none prefer
They that on glorious ancestors enlarge,
Dorset, let those who proudly boast their line,
Vain as false greatness is, the Muse must own
Mean sons of earth, who on a South-sea tide
Or full success, swam into wealth and pride,
Knock with a purse of gold at Anstis' gate,
And beg to be descended from the great.
When men of infamy to grandeur soar,
Some, for renown, on scraps of learning dote, Those governments which curb not evils, cause'
And a rich knave's a libel on our laws.
Belus with solid glory will be crown'd;
But builds himself a name; and, to be great, Did ever diamond cost a man so dear?
Sinks in a quarry an immense estate! Polite diseases make some idiots vain;
In cost and grandeur, Chandos he'll outdo; Which, if unfortunately well, they feign.
And Burlington, thy taste is not so true. Of folly, vice, disease, men proud we see; The pile is finish’d; every toil is past; And (stranger still !) of blockheads' flattery ; And full perfection is arriv'd at last ; Whose praise defames; as if a fool should mean, When lo! my lord to some small corner runs, By spitting on your face, to make it clean.
And leaves state-rooms to strangers and to duns. Nor is 't enough all hearts are swoln with pride, The man who builds, and wants wherewith to pay Her power is might;, as her realm is wide.
Provides a home from which to run away. What can she not perform ? The love of Fame In Britain, what is many a lordly seat, Made bold Alphonsus his Creator blame :
But a discharge in full for an estate ? Empedocles hurlid down the burning steep:
In smaller compass lies Pygmalion's fame; And (stronger still !) made Alexander weep. Not domes, but antique statues, are his flame : Nay, it holds Delia from a second bed,
Not Fountaine's self more Parian charms has known, Though her lov'd lord has four half months been dead, Nor is good Pembroke more in love with stone. This passion with a pimpe have I seen
The bailiffs come (rude men, profanely bold !) Retard a cause, and give a judge the spleen. And bid him turn his Venus into gold. By this inspir’d (O ne'er to be forgot!)
“ No, sirs,” he cries, “I'll sooner rot in jail : Some lords have learn'd to spell, and some to knot. Shall Grecian arts be truck'd for English bail ?" It makes Globose a speaker in the house; Such heads might make their very bustos laugh: He hems, and is deliver'd of his mouse.
His daughter starves; but Cleopatra 's safe.*
May spill their treasure in a nice conceit:
* A famous statue.