Azure, green, purple, pearl, or downy gold,
Or all commix'd; they stand, with wings outspread,
Listening to catch the master's least command,
And fly through Nature, ere the moment ends;
Numbers innumerable!
By Pagan, and by Christian!
Presides an angel, to direct its course,
And feed, or fan, its flames; or to discharge
Other high trusts unknown.
Such pomp of matter, and imagine, mind,
For which alone inanimate was made
More sparingly dispens'd? That nobler son,
Far liker the great Sire! —'T is thus the skies
Inform us of superiors numberless,
As much in excellence, above mankind,
As above Earth, in magnitude, the spheres.
These, as a cloud of witnesses, hang o'er us;
In a throng'd theatre are all our deeds;
Perhaps, a thousand demigods descend
On every beam we see, to walk with men.
Aweful reflection! Strong restraint from ill!
Yet, here, our virtue finds still stronger aid
From these ethereal glories sense surveys.
Something, like magic, strikes from this blue vault;
With just attention is it view'd? We feel
A sudden succour, unimplor'd, unthought;
Nature herself does half the work of man.
Seas, rivers, mountains, forests, deserts, rocks,
The promontory's height, the depth profound
Of subterranean, excavated grots,
Black brow'd, and vaulted high, and yawning wide
From Nature's structure, or the scoop of Time,
If ample of dimension, vast of size,
E'en these an aggrandizing impulse give;
Of solemn thought enthusiastic heights
E'en these infuse. - But what of vast in these?
Nothing; —or we must own the skies forgot.
Much less in art! Vain art! Thou pigmy power!
How dost thou swell and strut, with human pride,
To show thy littleness! What childish toys,
Thy watery columns squirted to the clouds!
Thy bason'd rivers, and imprison'd seas!
Thy mountains moulded into forms of men!
Thy hundred-gated capitals! or those
Where three days' travel left us much to ride;
Gazing on miracles by mortals wrought,
Arches triumphal, theatres immense,
Or nodding gardens pendent in mid-air!
Or temples proud to meet their Gods half-way!
Yet these affect us in no common kind.
What then the force of such superior scenes?
Enter a temple, it will strike an awe:
What awe from this the Deity has built!
A good man seen, though silent, counsel gives:
The touch'd spectator wishes to be wise:
In a bright mirror his own hands have made,
Here we see something like the face of God.
Seems it not then enough, to say, Lorenzo!
To man abandon'd, "Hast thou seen the skies ?"
And yet, so thwarted Nature's kind design
By daring man, he makes her sacred awe
(That guard from ill) his shelter, his temptation
To more than common guilt, and quite inverts
Celestial art's intent. The trembling stars
See crimes gigantic, stalking through the gloom
With front erect, that hide their head by day,
And making night stiil darker by their deeds.
Slumbering in covert, till the shades descend,
Rapine and murder, link'd, now prowl for prey.
The miser earths his treasure; and the thief,
Watching the mole, half-beggars him ere morn.
Now plots, and foul conspiracies, awake
And, muffling up their horrours from the Moon,
Havock and devastation they prepare,
And kingdoms tottering in the field of blood.
Now sons of riot in mid-revel rage.
What shall I do? - Suppress it? or proclaim?
Why sleeps the thunder?
Now, Lorenzo! now,
His best friend's couch the rank adulterer
Ascends secure; and laughs at gods and men.
Preposterous madmen, void of fear or shame,
Lay their crimes bare to these chaste eyes of Heaven;
Yet shrink, and shudder, at a mortal's sight.
Were Moon and stars for villains only made?
To guide, yet screen them, with tenebrious light?
No, they were made to fashion the sublime
Of human hearts, and wiser make the wise. [liv'd
Those ends were answer'd once; when mortals
Of stronger wing, of aquiline ascent
In theory sublime. O how unlike
Those vermin of the night, this moment sung, Who crawl on Earth, and on her venom feed! Those ancient sages, human stars! they met Their brothers of the skies, at midnight hour; Their counsel ask'd; and, what they ask'd, obey'd The Stagirite, and Plato, he who drank
The poison'd bowl, and he of Tusculum,
With him of Corduba (immortal names!)
In these unbounded, and Elysian, walks,
An area fit for gods, and godlike men,
They took their nightly round, through radiant
By seraphs trod; instructed, chiefly, thus,
To tread in their bright footsteps here below;
To walk in worth still brighter than the skies.
There they contracted their contempt of Earth;
Of hopes eternal kindled, there, the fire;
There, as in near approach, they glow'd, and grew
(Great visitants!) more intimate with God,
More worth to men, more joyous to themselves.
Through various virtues, they, with ardour, ran
The zodiac of their learn'd illustrious lives.
In Christian hearts, O for a Pagan zeal!
A needful, but opprobrious prayer! as much
Our ardour less, as greater is our light.
How monstrous this in mortals! Scarce more strange
Would this phenomenon in Nature strike,
A sun, that froze her, or a star, that warm'd.
What taught these heroes of the moral world?
To these thou giv'st thy praise, give credit too.
These doctors ne'er were pension'd to deceive thee;
And Pagan tutors are thy taste. -They taught,
That narrow views betray to misery:
That wise it is to comprehend the whole :
That virtue rose from Nature, ponder'd well,
The single base of virtue built to Heaven:
That God and Nature our attention claim:
That Nature is the glass reflecting God,
As, by the sea, reflected is the Sun,
Too glorious to be gaz'd on in his sphere :
That mind immortal loves immortal aims:
That boundless mind affects a boundless space :
That vast surveys, and the sublime of things,
The soul assimilate, and make her great :
That, therefore, Heaven her glories, as a fund
Of inspiration, thus spreads out to man.
Such are their doctrines; such the night inspir'd. And what more true? What truth of greater weight?
The soul of man was made to walk the skies;
Delightful outlet of her prison here!
There, disencumber'd from her chains, the ties
Of toys terrestrial, she can rove at large;
There, freely can respire, dilate, extend,
In full proportion let loose all her powers;
And, undeluded, grasp at something great.
Nor, as a stranger, does she wander there;
But, wonderful herself, through wonder strays;
Contemplating their grandeur, finds her own;
Dives deep in their economy divine,
Sits high in judgment on their various laws,
And, like a master, judges not amiss.
Hence greatly pleas'd, and justly proud, the soul
Grows conscious of her birth celestial; breathes
More life, more vigour, in her native air;
And feels herself at home amongst the stars;
And, feeling, emulates our country's praise.
What call we, then, the firmament, Lorenzo?
As earth the body, since the skies sustain
The soul with food, that gives immortal life,
Call it, the noble pasture of the mind;
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