A language, worthy the Great Mind, that speaks!
Preface, and comment, to the sacred page!
Which oft refers its reader to the skies,
As pre-supposing his first lesson there,
And scripture 'self a fragment, that unread.
Stupendous book of wisdom, to the wise;
Stupendous book! and open'd, Night! by thee.
By thee much open'd, I confess, O Night!
Yet more I wish; but how shall I prevail?
Say, gentle Night! whose modest, maiden beams
Give us a new creation, and present
The world's great picture soften'd to the sight;
Nay, kinder far, far more indulgent still,
Say, thou, whose mild dominion's silver key
Unlocks our hemisphere, and sets to view
Worlds beyond number; worlds conceal'd by day
Behind the proud, and envious star of noon!
Canst thou not draw a deeper scene? And show
The mighty potentate, to whom belong
These rich regalia pompously display'd
To kindle that high hope? Like him of Uz,
I gaze around; I search on every side -
O for a glimpse of him my soul adores !
As the chas'd hart, amid the desert waste,
Pants for the living stream; for him who made her,
So pants the thirsty soul, amid the blank
Of sublunary joys. Say, goddess! where?
Where blazes his bright court? Where burns his
Thou know'st; for thou art near him; by thee,
His grand pavilion, sacred fame reports
The sable curtain drawn. If not, can none
Of thy fair daughter-train, so swift of wing,
Who travel far, discover where he dwells?
A star his dwelling pointed out below.
Ye Pleiades! Arcturus! Mazaroth!
And thou, Orion! of still keener eye!
Say ye, who guide the wilder'd in the waves,
And bring them out of tempest into port!
On which hand must I bend my course to find him?
These courtiers keep the secret of their King;
I wake whole nights, in vain, to steal it from them. I wake; and, waking, climb night's radiant scale,
From sphere to sphere; the steps by Nature set
For man's ascent; at once to tempt and aid;
To tempt his eye, and aid his towering thought;
Till it arrives at the great God of all.
In ardent contemplation's rapid car,
From Earth, as from my barrier, I set out.
How swift I mount! diminish'd Earth recedes ;
I pass the Moon; and, from her farther side,
Pierce Heaven's blue curtain; strike into remote ;
Where, with his lifted tube, the subtle sage
His artificial, airy journey takes,
And to celestial lengthens human sight.
I pause at every planet on my road,
And ask for him who gives their orbs to roll,
Their foreheads fair to shine. From Saturn's ring,
In which, of Earths an army might be lost,
With the bold comet take my bolder flight,
Amid those sovereign glories of the skies,
Of independent, native lustre, proud;
The souls of systems! and the lords of life,
Through their wide empires!-What behold I now?
A wilderness of wonder burning round;
Where larger suns inhabit higher spheres;
Perhaps the villas of descending gods;
Nor halt I here; my toil is but begun ;
'T is but the threshold of the Deity;
Or, far beneath it, I am grovelling still.
Nor is it strange; I built on a mistake;
The grandeur of his works, whence folly sought
For aid, to reason sets his glory higher;
Who built thus high for worms (mere worms to him)
O where, Lorenzo! must the Builder dwell?
Pause, then, and, for a moment, here respire — If human thought can keep its station here. Where am I? Where is Earth?
To mine, how short! On Nature's alps I stand,
And see a thousand firmaments beneath!
A thousand systems! as a thousand grains!
So much a stranger, and so late arriv'd,
How can man's curious spirit not inquire,
What are the natives of this world sublime,
Of this so foreign, un-terrestrial sphere,
Where mortal, untranslated, never stray'd?
"O ye, as distant from my little home,
As swiftest sun-beams in an age can fly!
Far from my native element I roam,
In quest of new, and wonderful, to man.
What province this, of his immense domain,
Whom all obeys? or mortals here, or gods?
Ye borderers on the coasts of bliss! what are you?
A colony from Heaven? Or, only rais'd, [realms,
By frequent visit from Heaven's neighbouring
To secondary gods, and half-divine? -
Whate'er your nature, this is past dispute,
Far other life you live, far other tongue
You talk, far other thought, perhaps, you think,
Than man.
How various are the works of God!
But say, what thought? is reason here enthron'd,
And absolute? or sense in arms against her?
Have you two lights? or need you no reveal'd?
Enjoy your happy realms their golden age?
And had your Eden an abstemious Eve?
Our Eve's fair daughters prove their pedigree,
And ask their Adams 'Who would not be wise?'
Or, if your mother fell, are you redeem'd?
And if redeem'd—is your Redeemer scorn'd?
Is this your final residence? if not,
Change you your scene, translated? or by death?
And if by death, what death?
– Know you disease?
With war, this fatal hour,
Europa groans (so call we a small field, [putes
Where kings run mad). In our world, Death de-
Intemperance to do the work of age;
And hanging up the quiver Nature gave him,
As slow of execution, for dispatch
Sends forth imperial butchers; bids them slay
Their sheep (the silly sheep they fleec'd before)
And toss him twice ten thousand at a meal.
Sit all your executioners on thrones?
With you, can rage for plunder make a god?
And bloodshed wash out every other stain?
But you, perhaps, can't bleed: from matter gross
Your spirits clean, are delicately clad
In fine-spun ether, privileg'd to soar,
Unloaded, uninfected; how unlike
The lot of man! How few of human race
By their own mud unmurder'd! How we wage
Self-war eternal! Is your painful day
Of hardy conflict o'er? Or, are you still
Raw candidates at school? And have you those
Who disaffect reversions, as with us?
But what are we? You never heard of man;
Or Earth, the bedlam of the universe!
Where reason (undiseas'd with you) runs mad,
And nurses folly's children as her own;
Fond of the foulest. In the sacred mount
Of holiness, where reason is pronounc'd
Infallible; and thunders, like a god;
E'en there, by saints, the demons are outdone;
What these think wrong, our saints refine to right;
And kindly teach dull Hell her own black arts;
Satan, instructed, o'er their morals smiles.
But this, how strange to you, who know not man!
Has the least rumour of our race arriv'd?
Call'd here Elijah in his flaming car?
Pass'd by you the good Enoch, on his road
To those fair fields, whence Lucifer was hurl'd;
Who brush'd, perhaps, your sphere in his descent,
Stain'd your pure crystal ether, or let fall
A short eclipse from his portentous shade?
O! that the fiend had lodg'd on some broad orb
Athwart his way; nor reach'd his present home,
Then blacken'd Earth with footsteps foul'd in Hell,
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