At THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES J. B. Bradley, 1917. For Reading Room Only SOUTHERN t$RA,NCH, iNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY. OS ANQCLES, CALIF. THE WORKS O F T H E AUTHOR OF THE NIGHT-THOUGHTS. IN FOUR VOLUMES. REVISED and CORRECTED by Himfelf. 45!)?" A NEW EDITION. VOL. III.- LONDON: Printed for J. BUCKLAND, W. BOWYER, J. and F. RIVINGTO.V, HAWES, CLARKE, and COLLINS, W. OWEN, T. CASLOX, S. CROWDER, E. and C. DILLY, J. DODSLEY, C. COR- SETT, H. BALDWIN, T. CADELL, E. JOHNSTON, T. DAVIIS, T. LOWNDES, W. NICOLL, S. BLADON, C. ROBJNSON, J. RIDLEY, W, OTKJDGZ, and T. EVANS. M.DCC.LXXJV, 31 # A \ , v-rM V, 3 THE COMPLAINT: O R, NIGHT-THOUGHTS. NIGHT'THE" FIRST; O N" LIFE, DEATH, and IMMORTALITY. VOL. 111. PREFACE. J S the occajion of this Poem was real, not fi&i- tious j fo the method purfued in it, was rather impofed, by what jpontanewjiy arcje in the autbor't mind on that occafton^ than meditated or defigned. Which will appear very prolab/e from the nature of it. For it differs from the common mode of Poetry, which is, from long narrations to draw Jhort morals. Htre^ in the contrary, iht narrative is Jhort, and the mora- lity arifmg from it makes the bulk of the Poem. The reafon of it is. That the faffs mentioned did naturally -pour thefe moral refaflions on the thought of the writer. THE C 3 3 THE COMPLAINT. NIGHT the FIRST. O N LIFE, DEATH, and IMMORTALITY. To the RIGHT HONOURABLE ARTHUR O N S L O W, fq ; SPEAKER of the HOUSE of COMMONS. TI R' D Nature's fweet reftorer, balmy Sleep f He, like the world, his ready vide pays Where Fortune fmi'es ; the wretched he fbrfakes ; Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe, And lights on lids unfully'd with a tear. From fhort (as ufual) and difturb'd repofe, I wake : How happy they, who \ake no more ! Yet that were vain, if dreams infra the grave. C z I wake, 4 THE COMPLAIN T. Night i, 1 wake, emerging from a fea of dreams Tumultuous; where my wreck'd defponding thought. From wave to wave ^i fancy 1 d mifery, At random drove, her helm of reafon loft. Tho' now reflor'd, 'tis only change of pain, (A bitter change !) feverer forfevere. The Day too fhort for my diftrefs ; and Night^ Ev'^ in faexenitb of her dark domain, Is fo-nfhiire to the colour of my fate. Nighty fable goddefs ! from her ebon throne, In raylefs majefly, now flretches forth Her leaden fceptre o'er a flumb'ring world. Silence, how dead ! and darknefs, how profound ! Nor eye, nor Jift'ning ear, an object finds ; Creation fleeps. 'Tis as the gen'ral pulfe Of life flood ftill, and nature made a paufe ; An awful paufe ! prophetic of her end. And let her prophefy be foon fulfill'd ; Fate ! .drop rhe curtain ; I can lofe no more. Silence and Darknefs ! folemn fitters ! twins From ancient Night, who nurfe the tender thought To Reafon, and on Reafon build Rrfofoe, (That column of true majefly in man) Afliil me : I will thank you in the grave ; The grave, your kingdom : There this frame fhall fall A victim facred to your dreary lliiioe. 15 ut what are ye ? - , THOU, who didit put to flight Primaeval Silence, when the morning flars, Exulting, fhouted o'er the rifing bail ; O THOU, On LIFE, DEATH, and IMMORTALITY. 5 O THOU, whofe word from folid far'kntft ftruck That fpark, the fun ; ftrike wifdom from my foul ; My foul, which flies to Thee, her truft, her treafure, As mifers to their gold, while others reft. Thro' this opaque of Nature r and of Sou/, This double nighr, tranfmit one pitying ray, To lighten, and to chear. O lead my mind, (A mind that fain would wander from its woe) Lead it thro' various fcenes of Life and Death ; And from each fcene, the nobleft truths infpire. Nor lefs infpire my Conduti, than my Song ; Teach my belt reafon, reafon ; my beft will Teach reftitude ; and fix my firm refolve Wifdom to wed, and pay her long arrear : Nor let the phial of thy vengeance, pour'd On this devoted head, be pour'd in vain. The bell ftrikes One. We take no note of time But from its lofs. To give it then a tongue Is wife in man. As if an angel fpoke, I feel the folemn found. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours : Where are they ? With the years beyond the flood, It is theySgtf/ that demands difpatch : How much is to be done ? My hopes and fearj Start up alarm'd, and o'er life's narrow verge Look down On what ? a fathomlefs abyfs j. A dread eternity ! how furely mine! And can eternity belong to me, Poor penfioner on the bounties of an hour I How poor* how rich, how abjeft, how auguft,. B 3 How 6 THE COMPLAINT. Night i How complicate, how wonderful, is man ! How paffing wonder HE, who made him fuch ! Who centred in our make fuch flrange extremes ! From diff'rent natures marveloufly mixt, Connexion exquifite of diftant worlds ! Diftingoifli'd link in being's er.d'efs chain f Midway from Nothing to the Deity ! A beam ethereal, fully'd, and abforpt ! Tho' fully'd, and dimonour'd, ftill divine ! Dim miniature of greatnefs abfolute ! An heir of glory ! a frail child of dud ! Helplefi immortal ! in feel infinite ! A worm ! a god ! I tremble at myfelf, And in myfelf am loft ! at home a ilraiiger, Thought wanders up and down, furpriz'd, aghaft, And wond'ring at her 6ww: How reafon reels ! O what a miracle to man is man, Triumphantly diflrefs'd ! what joy, what dread ! Alternately tranfported, and alarm'd ! What can preferve my life ! or what deftroy ! An angel's arm can't fnatch me from the grave $ Legions of angels can't confine me there. 'Tis paft conjecture; all things rife in proof: While o'er my limbs Jleefs foft dominion fpread. What tho' my foul phantaftic meafures trod O'er fairy fields ; or mourn'd along the gloom Of pathlefs woods ; or down the craggy fteep Hurl'd headlong, fwam with pain the mantled pool ; Or fcal'd the cliff; or danc'd on hollow winds, With antic lhapes, wild natives of the brain ? Her On LIFE, DEATH, and IMMORTALITY. 7 Her ceafelefs flight, tho' devious, fpeaks her nature Of fubtler eflence than the trodden clod j .Active, aerial, tow'ring, unconfin'd, Unfetter'd with her grofs companion's fall. Ev'n filent night proclaims my foul immortal: Ev'n filent night proclaims eternal day. For human weal, heav'n hulbands all events; Dull fleep inftrucls, nor fport vain dreams in vain. Why then their lofs deplore, that are not Icit ? Why wanders wretched thought their tombs around, In infidel dulrefs ? Are Angch there ? Slumbers, rak : d up in duft, ethereal r.re? They live ! they greatly live a life on earth Unkindled, unconceiv'd; and from an eye Of tendernefs let heav'nly pity fall On me, more juflly number'd with the dead. This is the defart, this the folitude : How populous, how vital, is the grave ! This is creation's melancholy vault, The vale funereal, the fad cyprefs gloom ; The land of apparitions, empty (hades ! All, all on earth, is Sbadt^v, all beyond Is Subjlance ; the reverfe is folly's creed: How folid all, where change ftiali be no more ! This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, The twilight of our day, the veftibule ; Life's theatre as yet is fhut, and death, Strong death, alone can heave the mafly bar, This grofs impediment of clay remove, And make us embryos of exiftence free. B 4 Froa 8 THE COMPLAINT. Night i. From real life, but little more remote Is be, not yet a candidate for light, The future embryo, flumb'ring in his fire. Embryos we muft be, till we burft the mell, Yon ambient azure fhell, and fpring to life, The life of gods, O tranfport ! and of man. Yet man, fool man ! here buries all his thoughts; Inters celeflial hopes without one figh. Prifoner of earth, and pent beneath the moon, Here pinions all his wifhes ; wing'd by heav'n To fly at infinite ; and reach it there, Where /erapks gather immortality, On life's fair tree, faft by the throne of God. What golden joys ambrofial cluft'ring glow, In HI S full beam, and ripen for the juft, Where momentary ages are no more ! Where time, and pain, and chance, and death expire! And is it in the flight of threefcore years, To pu(h eternity from human thought, And fmother fouls immortal in the duft ? A foul immortal, fpending all her fires, Wafting her ftrength in (Irenuous idlenefs, Thrown into tumult, raptur*d, oralarm'd, At aught this fcene can threaten or indulge, Refembles ocean into tempeft wrought, To waft a feather, or to drown a fly. Where falls this cenfure ? It o'erwhelms myfelf ; How was my heart incrufted by the world ! O how felf-fetter'd was my grov'ling foul ! How, like a worm, was I wrapt round and round la On LIFE, DEATH, and IMMORTALITY, g In filken thought, which reptile Fancy fpun, Till darken 'd Reafon lay quite clouded o'er With foft conceit of endlefs comfort here, Nor yet put forth her wings to reach the fkies ! Night-vifions may befriend (as fang above) : Ouroua/fzwg- dreams are fatal. How I dreamt Of things impoffible ! (Could fleep do more ?) Of joys perpetual in perpetual change ! Of ftable pleafures on the tofling wave f Eternal funfhine in the ftorms of life ! How richly were my noon-tide trances hung With gorgeous tapeftries of pi&ur'd joys ! Joy behind joy, in endlefs perfpeftive ! Till at death's toll, whofe reftlefs iron tongue Calls daily for his millions at a meal, Starting T woke, and found myfelf undone. Where now my phrenzy's pompous furniture ? The cobweb'd cottage, with its ragged wall Of mould'ring mud, is royalty to me I Thejpider's moil attenuated thread Is cord, is cable, to man's tender fie On earthly blifs ; it breaks at every breeze. O ye bleft fcenes of permanent delight ! Full, above meafure ! lading, beyond bound ! A perpetuity of blifs is blifs. Could you, fo rich in rapture^ fear an end, That ghallly thought would drink up all your joy, And quite unparadife the realms of light. Safe are you lodg'd above thefe rolling fpheres ; The baleful influence of whofe giddy dance B 5 Sheds io THE COMPLAINT. Night i. Sheds fad viciffitude on all beneath; Here teems with revolutions every hour; And rarely for the better ; or the bejl, More mortal than the common births of fate. Each Moment has its fickle, emulous Of Time's enormous fcythe, whofe ample fweep Strikes empires from the root ; each moment playa His litle weapon in the narrower fphere Of fweet Jomeflic comfort, and cuts down The. faireft bloom of fublunary blifs. Blifs ! fublunary blifs ! proud words, and vain f Implicit treafon to divine decree ! A bold invafion of the rights of heav'n ! I clafp'd the phantoms, andl found them air. O had I weigh'd it ere my fond embrace ! What darts of agony had mifs'd my heart ! Death ! great proprietor of all ! 'tis thine To tread out empire, and to quench the ftars. The fun himfelf by thy permiffion mines ; And, one day, thou fhalt pluck him from his fphere. Amid fuch mighty plunder, why exhauft Thy partial quiver on a mark fo mean f Why thy peculiar rancour wreak'd on me? Infatiate archer ! could not one fuftice ? Thy fhaft flew thrice ; and tkrict my peace was flain ; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had fill'dher horn. O Cynthia ! why fo pale ? Doft thou lament Thy wretched neighbour ? Grieve to lee thy wheel Of ceafelefs change outwhirl'd in human life ? How wanes my borrow* d blifs 1 from fortune 's fmile, Free a- On LIFE, DEATH, and IMMORTALITY, n Precarious courtefy ! not virtue's fure, Self-given, folar ray of found delight. In ev'ry vary'd pofture, place, and hour, How widow'd ev'ry thought of ev'ry joy ! Thought, bufy thought ! too bufy for my peace ! Thro* the dark poftern of time long laps'd, Led foftly, by the ftilnefs of the night, Led, like a murderer, (and fuch it proves !) Strays (wretched rover !) o'er the pleafing Pafl ; In queft of wretchednefs perverfely ftrays ; And finds all defart now ; and meets the ghofts Of my departed joys ; a num'rous train ! I rue the riches of my former fate ; Sweet comfort's blalted clutters I lament ; I tremble at the bleffii'gs once fo dear ; And ev'ry pleafure pains me to the heart. Yet why ctmplain ? or why complain for one ? Hangs out the fun his luitre but for me, The Jingle man ? .'-re angels all betide ? I mourn for millions : 'Tis the common lot ; In this (hape, or in that, has fate entaiPd The mother's throes on all of woman born, Not more the children, than fure heirs, of pain. War, Famine, Pcft, Volcano, Storm, and Fire, Inteftine broils, Opprefiion, with her heart Wrapt up in triple brafs, befiege mankind. God's image disinherited of day, Here, plung'd in mines, forgets a fun was made. There, beings deathlefs as their haughty lord, Are hammer'd to the galling oar for life j B 6 And 12 THE COMPLAINT. Night r. And plow the winter's wave, and reap defpair. Some, for hard mafters, broken under arms, In battle lopt away, with half their limb?, Beg bitter bread thro' realms their valour fav'd, If fo the tyrant, or his minion, doom. Want, and incurable difcafe y (fell pair !) On hopelefs multitudes remorfelefs feize At once ; and make a refuge of the grave. How groaning ksfpitah ejeft their dead ! What numbers groan for fad admifiion there! What numbers, once in fortune's lap high-fed, Solicit the cold hand of charity ! To (hock us more, folicit it in vain! Ye filken fons of pleafure ! fmce in pain& You rue more modifli vifits, vifit here, And breathe from your debauch : Give, and reduce Surfeit's dominion o'er you : But fo great Your impudence, you blufh at what is right. Happy ! did forrow feize on fuch alone. Not prudence can defend, or virtue fave ; Difeafe invades the charted temperance-; And punifhment the guiltlefs ; and alarm, Thro' thickeft fhades, purfues the fond of peace. Man's caution often into danger turns, And, his guard falling, crufhes him to death. Not bappinefs itfelf makes good her name ; Our very wilhes give us not our wifii. How diftant oft the thing we doat on moft, From that for which we doat, felicity ! The fmwtktjt courfe of nature has its pains; And On LIFE, DEATH, and IMMORTALITY. 13 And true/1 friends, thro' error, wound our reft. Without misfortune, what calamities ! And what hoftilities, without a foe ! Nor are foes wanting to the beft on earth. But endlefs is the lift of human ills, And fighs might fooner fail, than caufe to figh, A part how fmall of the terraqueous globe , Is tenanted by man ! the reft a r is facred to the ftorm : Stand on thy guard againft the fmiles of fate. Is heav'n tremendous in its frowns f Moft fure ; And in its favours formidable too : Its favours here are trhls, not rewards ; A call to duty, not difcharge from care ; And mould alarm us, full as much as woes ; Awake us to their caufi, and confequenct ; And make us tremble, weigh'd with ourdefert; Awe nature's tumult, and chailiie her joys, Left while we clafp, we kill them j nay, invert To worle than/>H/>/f mifery, their charms. Revolted joys, like foes in civil war, Like On LIFE, DEATH, and IMMORTALITY. 15 Like bofom friendflups to refentment four'd, With rage envenom'd rife againft our peace. Beware what earth calls happinefs ; beware All joys, but joys that never can expire. Who builds on lefs than an immortal bafe, Fond as he feeras, condemns his joys to death. Mine dy'd with thee, PHILANDER ! thy lad figh Diilblv'd the charm; the difenchanted earth Loft all her luftre. Where her glitt'ring towers ? Her golden mountains, where ? all darken'd down To naked wafte ; a dreary vale of tears : The great magician's dead ! Thou poor, pale piece Of out-caft earth, in darknefs! what a change From yefterday ! Thy darling hope fo near, (Long-labour'd prize!) O how ambition flu(h'd Thy glowing cheek ! Ambition truly great, Of virtuous praife. Death's fubtle feed within, (Sly, treach'rous miner !) working in the dark, Smil'd at thy well-concerted fcheme, and beckon'd The worm to riot on that rofc fo red, Unfaded ere it fell ; one moment's prey! Man's foreffght is conditionally wife ; LORENZO ! wifdom into folly tuns Oft, the firft inftant, its idea fair To labouring thought is born. How dim our eye ! The prefent moment terminates our fight ; Clouds, thick as thofe on doomfday, drown the next ; We penetrate, we prophefy in vain. Time Is dealt out by particles ; and each, Ere mingled with the ftreaming fands of life, By 16 THE COMPLAINT. Night r. By fate's inviolable oath is fworn Deep filence, " Where eternity begins." By nature's law, what may be, may be now j There's no prerogative in human hours. In human hearts what bolder thought can rife, Than man's prefumption on to-morrow's dawn I Where is to-morrow ? In another world. For numbers this is certain ; the reverfe Is fure to none ; and yet on this perhaps, This peradventure, infamous for lyes, As on a rock of adamant, we build Our mountain hopes ; fpin out eternal fchemes, As we the fatal fitters could out-fpin, And, big with life's futurities, expire. Not ev'n PHILANDER had befpoke his fhroud. Nor had he caufe ; a warning was deny'd : How many fall as fudden, not as fafe ! As fudden, tho' for years admonim'd home. Of human ills the laft extreme beware, Beware, LORENZO! a Jlo*va fudden death. How dreadful that deliberate furprize ! Be wife to-day; 'tis madnefs to defer; Next day the fatal precedent will plead j Thus on, till wifdom is pufli'd out of life. Prccrajlination is the thief of time ; Year after year it fteals, till all are fled, And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vaft concerns of an eternal fcene. If not fo frcujuent, would not This be ftrange ? That 'tis fo frequent, Thit is ftranger Hill. " Of man's miraculous miftakes, this bears 4 The On LIFE, DEATH, and IMMORTALITY. 17 The palm, " That all men are about to live," For ever on the brink of being born. All pay themfelves the compliment to think They one day mail not drivel : and their pride On this reverfion takes up ready praife ; At leaft, their own ; their future felves applauds ; How excellent that life they ne'er will lead ! Time lodg'd in their own hands is Folly's vails ; That lodg'd in fate's, to wifdom they confign ; The thing they can't but purpofe, they poftponei 'Tis not in folly, not to fcorn a fool; And fcarce in human nuifdom to do more. All promife is poor dilatory man, And that thro' ev'ry ftage : When young, indeedj In full content we, fometimes, nobly reft, Unanxious for ourfelves ; and only wifli, As duteous fons, our fathers were more wife. At thirty man fufpefti himfelf a fool ; ' Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan j Atffr: chides his infamous delay, Puihes his prudent purpofe to refofoe ; In all the magnanimity of thought Refolves : and re-refolves ; then dies the fame. I v^*"~ And why ? Becaufe he thinks himfelf immortal. All men think all men mortal, but Themfelves ; Themfelves, when fome alarming (hock of fate Strikes thro' their wounded hearts the fudden dread ;. But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, Soon clofe ; where paft the maft x no trace is found. As from the nuing no fear the fky retains ; The parted wave no furrow from the keel ; So i8 THE C o M p L A i N T, &c. Night i. So dies in human hearts the thought of death. Ev'n with the tender tear which nature fheds O'er thofe we love, we drop it in their grave. Can I forget PHILANDER ? That were ftrange! my full heart But mould I give it vent, The longeft night, tho' longer far, would fail, And the lark liflen to my midnight fong. The fpritely larA's fhrill matin wakes the morn ; Grief's fharpeft thorn hard prefHng on my breaft, J ftrive, with wakeful melody, to chear The Ailien gloom, fweet Philomel! like Thee, And call the ftars to liften : Ev'ry ftar Is deaf to mine, enamoured of thy lay. Yet be not vain ; there are, who thine excel, And charm thro' diftant ages : Wrapt in fhade, Pris'ner of darknefs ! to the filent hours, How often I repeat their rage divine, To lull my griefs, and fteal my heart from woe ! 1 roll their raptures, but not catch their fire. Dark, tho' no, blind, like thce, Maonidei ! Or, Milton ! thee ; ah could I reach your ftrain ! Or His, who made M&onides our Oacw. Man too He fung : Immortal man I fing ; Oftburfts my fong beyond the bounds of life; What, coc, but immortality can plc-afe ? O had He prefs'd his theme, purfu'd the track, Which opens out of darknefs into day ! O had he, mounted on his wing of fire, SoarMwherel fink, and fung Ltmsrialmzn ! How had it bleft mankind, and refcu'd me ! NIGHT NIGHTtheSECOND. ' ON TIME, DEATH, FRIENDSHIP. C 2! 3 NIGHT the SECOND. TIME, DEATH, FRIENDSHIP. To the RIGHT HONOURABLE. The Earl of WILMINGTON. TT^Hen theCock cre-iu, he wept" fmote by that eye, Which looks on me, on all: That pow'r, who bids This midnight centinel, with clarion fhrill, Emblem of that which fhall awake the dead, Roufe fouls from flumber, into thoughts of Hea-v'n, Shall I too weep? Where then is fortitude? And, fortitude abandon'd, where is man ? I know the terms on which he fees the light; He that is born, is lifted ; life is war ; Eternal war with woe. Who bears it beft, Deferves it leafL On other themes I'll dwell. LORENZO ! let me turn my thoughts on thee, And thine, on themes mav profit ; profit there, Where moft thy need. Themes, too, the genuine growth Of dear FHILANDER'S duft. He, tbus> tho* dead, May 22 THE COMPLAINT. Night a. May fall befriend What ihemesi Time's wondrous Pr:ct r Death, Fi indjbif, and PHILANDER'J/^/^W. So could I touch thefe themes, as might obtain Thint ear, nor leave thy heart quite difengag'd, The good deed would delight me ; half imprefs On my dark cloud an Iris ; and from grief Call glory Doft thou mourn PHILANDER'S fate? I know thou lay'ft it : Says thy life the fame ? He mourns the dead, who lives as they delire. Where is that thrift, that avarice of T I M E, (O glorious avarice !) thought of death infpires, As rumour u robberies endear our gold ? O Time ! than gold more facred ; mo: a load Than lead, to fools ; and foo!; repfttidvfsfa. What moment granted man without account ? Vih&t years are fquander'd, wj/T?Ws delf unpaid ? Our wealth in days, all due to that difcharge. Hade, hafte, he lies in wait, he's at the door, Jnfidious Death ! mould his ftn ::<; hand arrelt, No compofition fets the pris'ner free. Eternity's inexorable chain Fall binds ; and vengeance claims the full arrear. How late I fliudder'd on the br;nk ! how late Life call'd for her laft refuge indefpair ! That Time is mine, O MEAD ! to thec I owe; Fain would I pay thee with Eternity, But ill my genius anfwers my defire; My fickly fong is mortal, paft thy care. Accept the will ; that dies not with my ftrain. For what calls tty diieafe, LORENZO ? not For On TIME, DEATH, FRIENDSHIP. 13 For Efculapian, but for Moral aid. Thou think'ft it folly to be wife too foon. Youth is not rich in Time, it may be poor ; Part with it as with money, fparing ; pay No moment, but in purchafe of its worth ; And what its worth, afk death-beds ; they can tefl, Part with it as with life, relit&ant ; big With holy hope of nobler time to come^ Time higher aim'd, ftill nearer the great mark Of men and angels; virtue more divine. Is this our duty^ ivi/dom, glory , gain ? (Thefe heav'n benign in vital union binds) And fport we like the natives of the bough, When vernal funs infpire ? Amufement reigns Man's great demand : To trifle is to live : And is it then a trifle, too, to die ? Thou fay'ft I preach, LORENZO ! 'Tis confeft. What, if for once, I preach thee quite awake ? Who wants amufement in the flame of battle f Is it not treafon, to the foul immortal, Her foes in arms, eternity the prize ? Will toys amufe, when med'cines cannot cure ? When fpirits ebb, when life's enchanting fcenes j Their luftre lofe, and lelfen in our fight, As lands, and cities with their glitt'ring fpires, To the poor (hatter'd bark, by fudden ftorm Thrown off to fea, and foon to peri fh there ? Will Toys amufe ? No : Thrones will then be toys, And earth and flues feem duft upon the fcale. Rtdttm we time ? Its loft we dearly buy. What 24 THE COMPLAINT. Night 2. What pleads LORENZO for his high-priz'd fports ? He pleads time's num'rous blanks; he loudly pleads The ftraw-like trifles on life's common ftream. From whom thofe blanks and trifles, but from the* ? No blank, no trifle, nature made, or meant. Virtue, os purposed virtue, Hill be thine ; This cancels thy complaint at once, This leaves In aft no trifle, and no blank in time. This greatenf, fills, immortalizes all ; 9^/j, the bleft art of turning all to gold ; death thus more dreadful made: O what a riddle of abfurdity ! Lfi/ure is pain ; takes off our chariot-wheels ; How heavily we drag the load of life ! Bleft leifure is our curfe; like that of Cain % It makes us wander ; wander earth around To fly that tyrant, thought. As Atlas groari*d The world beneath, we groan beneath an hour. We cry for mercy to the next amufement ; The next amufement mortgages our fields ; Slight inconvenience I prifons hardly frown, From hateful Time if prifons fet us free. Yet when Dtath kindly tenders us relief, VOL. 111. G W 26 . THE COMPLAINT. Night 2. We call him cruel ; years to moments Ihrink, Ages to years. The telefcope is turn'd. To man's falfe optics (from his folly falfe) T'imi, in advance, behind him hides his wings, And fecms to creep, decrepit with his age; Behold him, when part by; what then is feen, But his broad pinions fwifter than the winds? And all mankind, in contradiction .ftrong, Rueful, aghaft ! cry out on his career. Leave to thy foes thefe errors, and thefe ills ; To nature juft, their Caufe and Cure explore. Not Ihort heavVs bounty, boundlefs our expence ; No niggard, nature ; men are prodigals. We ivajte, not ufe our time ; we breathe, not live. Time And wraps our thought, at banquets, in the fhroudj Life's little ftage is a fmall eminence, Inch-high the grave above ; that home of man, Where dwells the multitude : We gaze around ; We read their monuments ; we figh ; and while We figh, we fink ; and are what we deplor'd ; Lamenting, or lamented, all our lot ! Is death at diitance ? No : He has been on thee; And giv'n fure earnefl of his final blow. Thofe hours that lately fmil'd, where are they now ? Pallid to thought, and ghaltly ! drown'd, all drown'd In that great deep, which nothing difembogues ! And, dying, they bequeath'd thee fmall renown. The reft are on the wing : How fleet their flight 1 Already has the fatal train took fire j 5 A mo- 34 THE COMPLAINT. Night 2; A moment, and the world's blown up to tee; The fun is darkuefs, and the liars are duft. 'Tis greatly wife to talk with our pail hours ; And afk them, what report they bore to heaven ; And how they might have borne more welcome news. Their anfwers form what men Experience call ; If Wifduns friend, her beft; if not, worft foe. O reconcile them ! Kind Experience cries, " There's nothing here, but what as nothing weighs; tf The more our joy, the more we know it vain; " And by fuccefs are tutor'd to defpair." Nor is it only thus, but muft be fo. Who knows not this, tho' grey, is flill a child. Loofe then from earth the grafp of foud defire, Weigh anchor, and fome happier clime explore. Art thou fo moor'd thou canit riot diftngage, Nor give thy thoughts a ply to future fcenes ? Since, by Life's palVmg breath, blown up from earthy Light, as the fummer's dull, we take in air A moment's P jddy flight, and fall again ; Join the dull mafs, increafc the trodden foil, And fleen, ail earth herfelf fhall be no more; Since/' cts, their fmali world o'erthrown) We, for=-ama7.'d, from out earth's ruins crawl, Ami rife to fate extreme of foul or fair, As man's own choice (controuler of the fkies !) As man's defpotic will, perhaps one hour, (O how omnipotent is time !) decrees ; Should not each warning give a ftrong alarm ? Warning, far kfs than that of bofom torn From On TIME; -DEATH, FRIENDSHIP, 35 From bofom, bleeding o'er the facred dead I Should not each drWftrike us as we pafs, Portentous, as the. written wall, which ftrtick, O'er midnight bowls, the proud 4J]yrian pale, Ere-while high-flufht, with infolence, and wine ? Like that, the dial fpeaks ; and points to thee, LORENZO ! loth to break thy banquet up : " O man, thy kingdom is departing from thee j " And, while it lafts, is emptier than my made." Its filent language fuch : Nor need'ft thou call Thy Magi, to decypher what it means. Know, like the Median, fate is in thy walls : Doft afk, Ho-iv ? Whence ? Beljbazzar-like, amaz'd ? Man's make inclofes the fure feeds of death ; Life feeds the murderer : fngrate ! he thrives On her own meal, and then his nurfe devours. But, here, LORENZO, the delufion lies; Thatyo/rfr Jhado^w, as it meafures life, It life refeir.bles too : Life fpeeds away From point to point, tho' feeming to ftand flill. The cunning fugitive is fvvift by Health : Too fubtle is the movement to be feen ; * Yet foon man's hour is up, and we are gone. Warnings point out our danger; Gnomons t time : As tkej'e are ufelefs when the fun is fee : So tbofe, but when more glorious Rtafon fhines. Reafen mould judgein all ; in reafon^s eye, That fedentary (hadow travels hard. But fuch our gravitation to the wrong, 60 prone our hearts to whifper \vkat we wifh, C 6 'Ti 36 THE COMPLAINT. Nigta Tis later with the wife than he's aware : A Wilmington goes flower than the fun : And all mankind miftake their time of day j Ev'n age itfelf. Frefh hopes are hourly fown In furrow'd brows. To gentle life's defcent We fhut our eyes, andthink it is a plain. We take fair days in winter, for the fpring ; And turn our bleffings into bane. Since off Man muft compute that age he cannot/^/, He fcarce believes he's older for his years. Thus, at life's lateft eve, we keep in ftore One difappointment fure, to crown the reft ; The difappointment of apromis'd hour. On This, or fimilar, PHILANDER ! thou Whofe mind was moral, as the preacher's tongue j And ftrong, to wield all fcicnce, worth the name j How often we^talk'ddown the fummer's fun, And cool'd our paffions by the breezy ftream ! HOW often thaw'd and fhortea'd winter's eve, By conflict kind, that ftruck out latent truth, Befl found, fo fought ; to the Reclufe more coy ! Thoughts difentangle parting o'er the lip ; Clean runs the thread ; if not, 'tis thrown away, Or kept to tie up nonfcnfc for a fong ; Song, faftiionably fruitlefs ; fuch as itains The Fancy, and unhallow'd Pafficn fires ; Chiming her faints to Cjtbered'x fane. Know'ft thou, LORENZO! what a friend contains ? A bees mixt Netfar draw from fragrant flow'rs, So men from FRIENDSHIP, Wifdcm and Dtligbt\ Twin i On TIME, DEATH, FRIENDSHIP. 37 Twins ty'd by nature, if they part, they die. Haft thou no friend to fet thy mind abroach ? Good Senfe will itagnate. Thoughts (hut up, want air, And fpoil, like bales unopen'd to the fun. Had thought been all, fweet fpeech had been deny'd ; Speech, thought'scanal ! fpeech, thought's criterion too! Thought in the mine, may come forth gold, or drofc j When coin'd in words, we know its real worth. Jf fterling, (lore it for thy future ufe ; 'Twill buy thee benefit ; perhaps, renown. Thought, too, deliver'd, is the more pofleft ; Teaching, we learn ; and, giving, we retain Tke births of intellect ; when dumb, forgot. Speech ventilates our intellectual fire ; Speech burnifhesour mental magazine; Brightens, for ornament ; and whets, for ufir. What numbers, iheath'd in erudition, lie, Plung'd to the hilts in venerable tames, And rutted in ; who might have borne an edge, And play'd a fprightly beam, if born to fpeech ; If born bleft heirs of half their mother's tongue ! 'Tis thought's exchange, which, like th' alternate pufli Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned fcum, And defecates the ftudent's Handing pool. In Contemplation is his proud refource ? 'Tis poor, as proud, by Converge unfuftain'd. Rude thought runs wild in Contemplation's field; Converfe, the menage, breaks it to the bit Of due reftraint ; and emulation's fpur Gives graceful energy, by rivals aw'd. 3$ THE COMPLAINT. Night 2. 'Tis converfe qualifies for folitude ; As exercife, forfalutary reft. By that untutor'd, Cowemplatisn raves ; And Nature's fool,, by Wifdotn is undone. Wifdom, tho' richer than Peruvian mines, And fweeter than the fweet ambrolial hive, What is Hie, but the means of Happinefs ? That unobtain'd, than folly more a fool ; A melancholy fool, without her bells. Friend/hip, the means of wifdom, richly gives The precious end, which makes our wifdom wife. Nature, in zeal for human amity, Denies, or damps, an undivided \vy. Joy is an import ; joy is an exchange ; Joy flies monopolifts : It calls for Two ; Rich fruit ! heav'n-planted ! never pluckt by Gr.e. Needful anxiliars ard our friends, to give To facial man true relifh of himfelf. Full on ourfelves, defcer.ding in a line, Pleafuris bright beam is feeble in delight : Delight intenfe, is taken by rebound ; . Reverberated pleafures fire the breaft. Celeftial Happinefs, whene'er me Hoops To vifit earth, oireftmne the goddefs finds, And one alone, to make her fweet amends For abfent heav'n the bofom of a friend ; Where heart meets hear 1 ", reciprocally foft, Each other's pillow to repofe divine. Beware the counterfeit : In fflffion's flame Heart* On TIME, DEATH, FRIENDSHIP. 39 Hearts melt, but melt like ice, foon harder froze. True love ftrikes root in Reafon ; paffion's foe : Virtue alone entenders us for life : I wrong her much entenders us for ever : Of Friendjhip's faireft fruits, the fruit moft fair Is Virtue kindling at a rival fire, And, emuloufy, rapid in her race. O the foft enmity ! endearing ftrife ! This carries friendfhip to her noon-tide point, And gives the rivet of eternity. From Friendjbip, which outlives my former themes, Glorious furvivor of old Time and Death ! From Friendship, thus, that fiow'r of heav'nly feed, The wife extract earth's moft- Hyblean blifs, Superior wifdom, crown'd with fmiling joy. But for whom bloflbms this Elyjian flowtr? Abroad They find, who cherifh it at Home. LORENZO ! pardon what my love extorts, An honeft love, and not afraid to frown. Tho' choice of follies faften on the Great, None clings more obftinate, than fancy fond Th. t facred friendfhip is their eafy prey ; Caught by the wafture of a golden lure, Or fafcination of a high-born fmile. Their- fmiles, the Great, and the Coquet, throw out For Others hearts, tenacious of their Own ; 'And we no lefs of ours, whenfucb the bait. Ye fortune's cofferers ! Ye pow'rs of wealth I Can gold gain friendfhip ? Impudence of hope! As well mere man an angel might beget. Love, 4< THE COMPLAINT. Night 2. Love, and Love only, is the loan for love. LORENZO! pride reprefs ; nor hope to find A friend, but what has found a friend in Thee. All like the purchafe ; few the price will pay And this makes friends fuch miracles below. What if (fince daring on fo nice a theme) I (hew thee friendfhip Delicate, as Dear, Of tender violations apt to die ? R?wi will wound it ; and Dijiruft, deftroy. Deliberate on all things with thy friend. But fince friends grow not thick on ev'ry bougk, Nor ev'ry friend unrotten at the core ; Firft, on thy friend, delib'rate with Thyfelf ; Paufe, ponder, fift ; not Eager in the choice, Nor Jealous of the chofen ; Fixing, Fix ; Judge before friendfhip, then confide till death. Well, for thy friend ; but nobler far for Thee ; How gallant danger for earth's higheft prize 1 1 A friend is worth all hazards we can run. " Poor is the friendlefs mafter of a world : *' A world in purchafe for a friend is gain." So fung He (angels hear that angel fmg ! Angels from friendfliip gather half their joy) So fung PHILANDER, as his friend went round In the rich ichar, in the gen'rous blood Of BACCHUS, purple god of joyous wit, A brow folute, and ever-laughing eye. He drank long health, and virtue, to his friend j His friend, who warm'd him more, who more infpir'd. FrienJJbip's the wine of life j but friendfhip new (Not On TIME, DEATH, FRIENDSHIP. 41 (Not fuch was His) is neither Strong, nor Pure. ! for the bright complexion, cordial warmth, And elevating fpirit, of a friend, For twenty fummers ripening by my fide; All feculence of falfhood long thrown down ; All focial virtues rifing in his foul ; As cryflal clear ; and fmiling, as they rife ! Here nectar flows ; it fparkles in our fight ; Rich to the tafte, and genuine from the heart. Migh-flavour'd blifs for gods ! on earth how rare ! On earth how loft! PHILANDER is no more. Think'ft thou the theme intoxicates my fong ? Am I too warm ? Too warm I cannot be. 1 lov'd him much ; but now I love him more. Like birds, whofe beauties languifh, half-conceal'd, Till, mounted on the wing, their gloffy plumes Expanded fhine with azure, green, and gold; How bleflings brighten as they take their flight ! His flight PHILANDER took; his upward flight, If ever foul afcended. Had he dropt, (That eagle genius !) O had he let fall One feather as he flew ; I, then, had wrote, What friends might flatter ; prudent foes forbear; Rivals fcarce damn ; and ZOILUS reprieve. Yet what I can, I muft : It were profane To quench a glory lighted at the fkies, And caft in fhadows his illuftrious clofe. Strange! the theme moft affe&ing, moft fublime, Momentous moft to man, mould fleep unfung! And yet it fleeps, by genius imawak'd, c faiaiat 42 THE COMPLAINT. Night z. Painim or Cbrif.ian ; to the blufh of wit. Man's higheft triumph ! man's profoundeft fall ! The Death-bed of the juft ! is yet undrawn By mortal han-.i ; it merits a Divine : Angels fhould paint it, angels ever Tbert; There, on a pott uf honour, and of joy. Dare I prefame, then? Eut PHILANDER bids; And glory tempts, and inclinarion calls Yet am I ftruck ; as flruck the foul, beneath Aerial Groves impenetrable gloom ; Or, in fome mighty -SJa/Vs folemn made ; Or, gazing by pale lamps on bigb-lom Duft, In vaults ; thin courts of poor unflatter'd kings ; Or, at the midnight Char's hallow'd flame. Is it religion to proceed : I paufe And enter, aw'd, the temple of my theme. Is it his death- bed ? No : It is his fcrine : Behold him, there, juft rifing to a god. The chamber wjiere the good man meets his fate, Is privileg'd beyond the common walk Of 'virtuous life, quite in the verge of heav'n. Fly, ye profane ! If not, draw near with awe, Receive the blefling, and adore the chance, That threw in this Betkefda your difeafe ; If unreftor'd by This, defpair your cure. For, Here, refiillefs demonflration dwells ; A death-bed's a detcftor of the heart. Here tir'd dijpmulaiion drops her mafqae, Thro' life's grimace, that miftrefs of the fcene ! Here Real, and Apparent, are the Same. You On TIME, DEATH, FRIENDSHIP. 43 You fee the Man ; you fee his hold on heav'n ; If found his virtue; as PHILANDER'S, found. Heav'n waits not the laft moment ; owns her friends On this fide death ; and points them out to men, A lefture, filent, but of fov'reign pow'r! To vice, confufion ; and to virtue, peace. Whatever farce the boaftful hero plays, Virtue alone has majefty in death ; And greater (till, the more the tyrant frowns. PHILAVDER ! he feverely frown'd on thee. " No warning giv'n 1 Unceremonious fate! " A fuddcn rufh from life's meridian joy ! " A wrench from all w love ! from all we are f " A relUefs bed of pain ! a plunge opaque " Beyond corjc&ure ! feeble Nature's dread ! " Strong Ree/on's fhudder at the dark unknown! " A fun exiinguimt 1 a juft opening grave ? " And Oh ! the laft, laft, what ? (can words exprefs. ? ' Thought reach it?) the fait Silence of a friend i" Where are thofe horrors, that amazement, where,, This hideous group of ills, which fingly fhock^, Demand.from man ? I thought him man till wc-o>, Thro' nature's wreck, thro' vanquifr.t agonies, (Like the flare ftruggling thro' this midni^ gloom) What gleams of joy ? what more than human peace? Where, the frail mortal f the poor abjeft worm i No, not in death, \knMortai to be found. His conduft is a legacy for All. Richer than Mammon's for his fingle heir.. His comforters he comforts ; Great in ruin, With 44 THE C o M P L A i N T, &c. Night 2. With unreluclant grandeur, gives, not yields His fool fublime ; and clofes with his fate. How our hearts burnt within us at the fcene ! Whence this brave bound o'er limits fixt toman? His God fuftains him in his final hour ! His final hour brings glory to his God ! Man's glory heav'n vouchfafes to call her own. We gaze, we weep ; mixt tears of grief and joy ! Amazement ftrikes ! devotion burfh to flame ! Cbrijtians Adore ! and Infdels Believe. As fome tall tow'r, or lofty mountain's brow, Detains the fun, Illuftrious from its height ; While rifing vapours, and defcending (hades, With damps, and darknefs, drown the fpacious vale j Undampt by doubt, undarken'd by defpair, PHILANDER, thus, auguftly rears his head, At that black hour, which gen'ral horror fheds On the low level of th' inglorious throng : Sweet Peace, and heav'nly Hope, and humble Jj, Divinely beam on his exalted foul ; Deftru&ion gild, and crown him for the fkies, With incommunicable luftre, bright. NIGHT NIGHT the THIRD. N A R C I S S A, [ 47 ] NIGHT the THIRD. N A R C I S S A. TO HER GRACE The DUCHESS of P -------- . Ignofcenda quidem, fcirent J% ignofctre manes. VIRG. FROM Dreams, where thought in fancy's maze runs To Reafon, that hcav'n-lighted lamp in man, [mad, Once more I wake ; and at the deftin'd hour, Pun&ual as lovers to the moment fworn, 1 keep my aflignation with my woe. O ! Loft to virtue, loft to manly thought, Loft to the noble fallies of the foul ! Who think it folitude, to be Alone. Communion fweet I communion large and high ! Our Reafon, Guardian Angel \ and our Ge*// Then neareft Thefe, when Others moft remote ; And All, ere long, mall be remote, but Thefe. How dreadful, 'Tbe, to meet them all alone, A fl ranger! 48 THE COMPLAINT. Night 3, A ftranger ! unacknowledg'd ! unapprov'd ! Now woo them ; wed them j bind them to thy bread j To win thy wifli, creation has no more. Or if we wifh a fourth, it is a Friend But friends, how mortal ! dang'rous the defire. Take PHOEBUS to yourfelves, ye baflcing bards ! Inebriate at fair fortune's fountain-head ; And reeling thro' the wildernefs of joy; Where Senfe runs favage, broke from Reafcn's chain, And fmgs falfe peace, till fmother'd by the pall. My fortune is unlike ; unlike my fong ; Unlike the deity my fong invokes. I to Day's foft-ey'd fitter pay my court, (EN DYM ION'S rival !) and her aid implore ; Now firft implor'd in fuccour to the Mufe. Thou, who didft lately borrow * CYNTHIA'S form* And modeftly forego thine Own ! O Thon, Who didft thyfelf, at midnight hours, infpire ! Say, why not CYNTHIA patronefs of fong ? As Thou her crefcent, me thy character AfHimes ; ftill more a goddefs by the change. Are there demurring wits, who dare difpute This revolution in the world infpir'd? Ye train Pierian ! to the Lunar fphere, In filent hour, addrefs your ardent call For aid immortal ; lefs her brother's right. She, with the fpheres harmonious, nightly leads The mazy dance, and hears their matchlefs (train, A ftrain for gods, deny'd to mortal ear. At the duke of NonroLic'i maf Which wait the revolution in our hearts? Shall we difdain their filent, foft addrefs ; Their pofthumous advice, and pious pray'r? Senfelefs, as herds that graze their hallow'd graves^ Tread under-f:ot their agonies and groans ; Fruftrate their anguifh, and deftroy their deaths ? LORENZO! no; the thought of death indulge; Give it its wholefome empire ! let it reign, That kind chaftifer of thy foul in joy ! Its reign will fpread thy glorious conquefts far, And ftill the tumults of thy ruffled breaft: Aufpicious ./Era ! golden days, begin ! The thought of death fhall, like a god, infpire. And why not think on death ? Is life the theme Of ev'ry thought ? and wifh of ev'ry hour ? And fong of ev'ry joy ? Surprifing truth ! D 5 The 58 T H E C o M r L A i N T. Night 3. The beaten fpaniel's fondnefs not fo itrange. To wave the num'roas ills that feize on life As iheir own property, their lawful prey ; Ere man has meafur'd half his weary ftagr, His luxuries have left him no referve, No maiden relifhes, unbroacht delights ; On cold fejfv'd repetitions he fubfifts, And in the taftelefs/rf/f/ chews the paft ; Difgufted chews, and fcarce can fwallow down. Like lavifh anceftors, his earlier years Havedifinheiited his future hours, Which ftapve on arts, and glean their former field. Live ever here, LORENZO ! {hocking thought $ So (hocking, they who wifti, difown it too; Difown from ftiame, what they from folly crave. Live ever in the womb, nor fee the light ? For what live ever here ? With lab'ring ftep To tread our former fcotfteps ? Pace the round Eternal : To climb life's worn, heavy wheel, Which draws up nothing rew ? To bear, and beat The beaten track ? To bid each wretched day The former mock? To fuifeit on the fame, And yawn our joys ? Or thank a mifery For change, tho' fad ? To fee whr.t we have feen ? Hear, till unheard, the fame old llabber'd tale * To tafte the tailed, and at each retura Lefs tailcful ? O'er our palates to decant Another vintage? Strain a flatter year, Tfar^' loaded veffels, and a laxcr tone ? Crazy machines to grind earth's wailed fruits ! N A R C I S S A. 59 Hl-ground, and worfe concofted ! Load, not life ! The rational foul kennels of excefs ! Still-ftreaming thorough-fares of dull debauch ! Trembling each gulp, leJl death mould fnatch the bowl. Such of our foe ones is the wilh refin'd! So would they have it : Elegant defire ! Why not invite the bellowing ftalls, and wilds? But fuch examples might their riot awe; Thro' 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 fame vain world ; to cenfure, and efpoufe, This painted fhrew of life, who calls them fool Each moment of each day ; to flatter bad Thro' dread of worfe ; to cling to this rude rock,. Barren, to them, of good, and fharp with ills, And hourly blacken'd with impending ftorms, And infamous for wrecks of human hope Scar'd at the gloomy gulph, that yawns beneath. Such are their triumphs ! fuch their pangs of joy ! 'Tis tinre, high time, to fhift this difmal fcene. This hugged, this hideous ftafc, what art can cure I One only ; but that one, what all may reach ; VIRTUE (he, wonder-working goddefs ! charms That rock to bloom ; and tames the painted 'Jbrew, And what will more furprife, LORKXZO ! give$ ' To life's fick, naufeous iteration, change; And ftraitcns nature's circle to a line. .Believ'ft thoa this, LORENZO ? lend an ear, A patient ear, thon'lt blufh to diibelieve. D 6 A languid, 60 THE COMPLAINT. Night 3. A languid, leaden,, iteration reigns, And ever muft, o'er thofe, whofe joys are joys Of light, fmell, tafte : The cuckow-feafons fing The fame dull note to fuch as nothing prize, But what thofe feafons, from the teeming earth, To doating _// indulge. But nobler minds, Which relifh fruits unripen'd hy the fun, Make their days various; various as the dyes On the dove's neck, which wanton in bis rays. On minds of dove-like innocence poffeft, On lighten'd minds, that bafk in virtue's beams> Nothing hangs tedious, nothing old revolves In that, for which they long ; for which they live.. Their glorious efforts, wing'd with heav'nly hope* Each rifing morning fees ftill higher rife ; Each bounteous dawn its novelty prefents To worth maturing, new ftrength, luftre, fame ; While nature's circle, like a chariot-wheel Rolling beneath their elevated aims, Makes their fair profpecl fairer ev'ry hour ; Advancing 'virtue-, in a Line to blifi ; Virtue, which Chriftian motives beflinfpire ! And blifs, which Chriftian fchemes alone enfure !. And fiiall we then, for' virtue's fake, commence ApoHates? And turn infidels for joy? A truth it is, few doubt, but fewer truft, " He fins againft this life, who flights the next." What is this life ? How few their fav'rite know ! Fond in the dark, and blind in our embrace, By paffionately loving life, we make Lov'd N A R C I S S A. 6s Lov'd life unlovely ; hugging her to death* We give to Time Eternity's regard ; And> dreaming, take ourpaflage for our port. Life has no value as an end, but means; An end deplorable ! a means divine ! When 'tis our all, 'tis nothing; worfe than nought j- A neft of pains : when held as nothing, much : Like fome fair hum'rifts, life is mod enjoy'd, When courted leaft ; moft worth, when difefteem'd Then 'tis the feat of comfort, rich in peace; In profped richer far ; important ! awful ! Not to be mention'd, but with Ihouts of praife J-' Not to be thought on, but with tides of joy ! The mighty bafis of eternal blifs ! Where now the barren rock ? the painted fire ? Where now, LORENZO ! life's eternal round? Have I not made my triple promife good ?; Vain is the world ; but only to the vain. To what compare we then this varying fcene, Whofe worth ambiguous rifes, and declines ? Waxes, and wanes ? (In all propitious, Nigh* Aflifts me here) compare it to the moon ; Dark in herfelf, and indigent ; but rich In borro'w'd luftre from a higher fphere. When grofs guilt interpofes, lab'ring earth, O'erfhadow'd, mourns a deep eclipfe of joy j Her joys, at brighteft, pallid, to that font Of full effulgent glory, whence they flow. Nor is that glory diftant : Oh LORENZO ! A good man, and an angel! thefc between How 62 THE COMPLAINT. Night 3. How thin the barrier ! What divides their fate ? Perhaps a moment, or perhaps a year ; Or, if an age, it is a moment ftill ; A moment, or eternity's forgot. Then be, what once they were, who now are gods ; Be what PHILANDER was, and claim thefkies. Starts timid nature at the gloomy pafs ? The foft tranfition call it ; and be chear'd : Such it is often, and why not to Thee ? To hope the beft, is pious, brave, and wife ; And may itfelf procure, what it prefumes. Life is much flatter'd, death is much traduc'd ; Compare the rivals, and the kinder crown. " Strange Competition /" True, LORENZO ! ftrange ! So little Lift can cafl into the fcale. Life makes the foul dependent on the dufl ; Death gives her wings to mount above the fpheres. Thro' chinks, ftyl'd organs, dim life peeps at light j; Death burfls th' involving cloud, and all is day j All eye, all ear, the difembody'd power. Death has feign'd evils, nature mail not feel ; Life, ills fubllantial, ivifdom cannot fliun. Is not the mighty mind, that fon of heaven ! By tyrant life dethron'd, imprifon'd, pain'd r: By death enlarg'd, ennobled, deify'd ? Death but intombs the body ; life the foul. < Is death then guiltleis ? How he marks his way- " With dreadful wafteof what deferves to fhine ! " Art, genius, fortune, elevated power ! " With various luftres tkefe light tip the world, " Which NARCISSA. 63 * Which death puts out, and darkens human race.'* I grant, LORENZO ! this indidlment juft : The fage, peer, potentate, king , conqueror ! Death humbles thefe ; more barb'rous life, the ma.] Life is the triumph of our mould'ring clay ; Death, of the fpirit infinite ! divine ! Death has no dread, but what frail life imparts g Nor /iff true joy, but what kind death improves. No blifs has life to boaft, till death can give Far greater ; life's a debtor to the grave, Dark lattice ! letting in eternal day. LORENZO ! blufti ztfondnefs for a life, Which fends celeftial fouls on errands vile, To cater for the fenfe ; and ferve at boards,. Where ev'ry ranger of the wilds, perhaps Each reptile, jullly claims our upper hand.- Luxurious feait ! a foul, a foul immortal, In all the dainties of a brute bemir'd ! LORENZO ! blufh at terror for a death, Which gives thee to repofe in feflive bowerj, Where nedlars fparkle, angels minifter, And more than angels mare, and raife, and crown,. And eternize, the birth r bloom, burits of blifs. What need I more ? O death, the palm is thine. Then welcome, death ! thy dreaded harbingers*. Age, and difeafs ; difeafe, tho' long my gueit \ That plucks my nerves, thofe tender firings of life;; Which, pluckt a little more, will toll the bell, That calls my few friends to my funeral ; Where feeble nature drops, perhaps, a tear, While- 64 TH E COMPLAINT. Night j* While reafon and religion, better taught, Congratulate the dead, and crown his tomb With wreath triumphant. Death is vidlory j It binds in chains the raging ills of life : LuJ} and ambition, To proftrate angels, an amazing fcene ! O the prefumption of man's awe for man ! Man's Author ! End ! Reflorer ! Law 1 and Judge ! Thine, all ; day thine, and thine this gloom of ni^f. With all her wealth, with all her radiant worlds : What, night eternal, but a frown from thee ? What, heav'n's meridian glory, but thy fmile ? And mall not praife be thine, not human praife ? While heav'n's high holt on hallelujahs live ? O may I breathe no longer, than I breathe My foul in praife to Him, who gave my foul, And all her infinite of profpeft fair, Cut thro' the (hades of hell, great Lov/if in {heightened reins, And bids fierce whirlwinds wheel his rapid car ? What THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH. 83 What mean thefe queftions ? Trembling I retra&j My proftrate foul adores the prefent God : Praife 1 a diftant deity ? He tunes My voice (if tun'd) ; the nerve, that writes, fuftains :, Wrap'd in his being, I refound his praife : . But tho' paft <2//diffus'd, without a more, His eflence ; local is his throne (as meet),- To gather the difperfl (as ftandards call The lifted from afar) : to fix a point, A central point, collective of his fons,. Since ///* ev'ry nature but his pwn. The namelefs He, whofe nod is nature's birch ; And nature's fhield, the fiiSdow of his hand ; Her di/Tolution, his fufptndedfmile ! The great Firft-Lafl ! pavilionM high he fits. In darknefs from exceflive fplendor born, By gods unfeen, unlefs thro' luftre loft.. His glory, to created glory, bright, As that to central horrors ; he logics down On all that foars ; and fpans immenfity. Tho' vlgbt unnumber'd worlds unfolds to riew, Boundlefs creation ! what art thou : Abeam, A mere effluvium of his majeRy : And mall an atom of this atom-world Mutter in duft and fin, the theme of heav'n ? Down to the centre ihould J fend my thought Thro' beds of glittVtng ore, and glowing gems, Their beggar' d blaze wants luilre for my la/ ; Goes out in darknefs: if, on tcw'ring wing, I fend it thro' the boundlefs vault of ftars I E 6, The 84 THE COMPLAINT. Night 4. The ftars, tho' rich, what drofs their gold to thee t Great ! good ! wife ! wonderful ! eternal King I If to thofe confdcus ftars thy throne around, Praife ever- pouring, and imbibing blifs ; And afk their flrain ; they want it, more they want, Poor their abundance, humble their fublime, Languid their energy, their ardor cold, Indebted dill, their higheft rapture burns j Short of its mark, defective, tho' divine. Still more This theme is man's, and man's alone; Their vaft appointments reach it not : They fee On earth a bounty not indulg'd on high ; And <&--uwu;aft/ look for heav'n's fuperior praife ! Firft-born of Ether! high in fields of light ! View man, to fee the glory of your God ! Could angels envy, they had envy'd here, And fome <&Venvy; and the reft, tho' gods, Yet ftill gods unredeemed (there triumphs man, Tempted to weigh the dull againft the Gcies) They lefs would feel, tho' more adorn, my theme. They fung Creation (for in that they fhar'd) ; How rofe in melody, that child of love ! Creation's great fuperior, man ! is thine ; Thine is redemption ; they juft gave the key : Tis thine to raife, and eternize, the fong ; Tho' human, yet divine ; for fhould not this Raife man o'er man, and kindle feraphs ben? Redemption! 'twas creation more fublime; Redemption ! 'twas the labour of the fkies ; fait mere than labour It was dtalb in heav'u. A truth THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH. 85 A truth fo ftrange! 'twere bold to think it true; If not far bolder ftill, to difbelieve. Here paufe, and ponder: Was there death in heav'n ? What then on earth ? On earth, which ftruck the blow I Who ftruck it ? Who ? O how is man enlarg'd, Seen thro' this medium ! How the pigmy tow'rs ! How counterpois'd his origin from duft ! How counterpois'd, to duft his fad return ! How voided his vaft diftance from the ikies ! How near he prefles on the feraph's wing ! Which is the feraph ? Which the born of clay ? How this demonftrates, thro' the thickeft cloud Of guilt, and clay condenft, the fon of heav'n ! The double fon ; the made, and there-made 1 And lhall heav'n's double property be loft ? Man's double madnefs only can deftroy. To man the bleeding crofs has promis'd all * The bleeding crofs has fworn eternal grace j Who gave his life, what grace {hall He deny ? O ye ! who, from this Rock of ages, leap, Apoitates, plunging headlong in the deep ! ' What cordial joy, what confolation flrong, Whatever winds arife, or billows roll, Our int'reft in the Mafter of the ftorm ! Cling there, and in vvreck'd nature's ruins fmile\ While vile apoftates tremble in a calm. Man! know thyfelf. All wifdom centres there : To none man feems ignoble, but to man ; Angels that grandeur, men o'er- look, admire: How long (hall human nature be their book, Degenerate 86 T H E C M P L A I N T. Night 4. Degea'rate mortal ! and unread by Thee ? The beam dim reafon fheds ihews wonders There ; . What high contents ! Illuftrious faculties ! But the grand ccmment, which difplays at full Our human height, fcarce fever'd from divine, By heav'n compos'd, was publilh'd on the Crofs. Who looks on That, and fees not in himfelf An awful ftranger, a terrcftrial god r A glorious partner with the Deity In that high attribute, immortal life ? If a God bleeds, he bleeds not for a worm : I gaze, and, as I gaze, my mounting foul Catches ftrange fire, Eternity ! at Thee ; And drops the world or rather, more enjoys : HOW chang'd the face of nature ! how improved I What feem'd a chaos, fliines a glorious world, Or, what a world, an Eden ; heighten'd all 1 It is another fcene! another felf! And lliU'another, as time rolls along ; And that ay^far more illuflrious ftilJ. Beyond long ages, yet roll'd up in fhades Unpierc'd by bold conjecture's keerefl ray, What evolutions- of furprifing fate ! How nature opens, and receives my foul In boundlefs walke of raptur'd thought! where gods- Encounter and embrace me ! What new births Of fVrange adventure, foreign to the fun, Where what now charms, perhaps, whate'er exifts, Old time, and fair creation, are forgot ! Is this extravagant ? Of man we form Extra- THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH. 87 Extravagant conception, to bejuft: Conception unconfin'd wants wings to reach him: Beyond its reach, the Godhead only, more. He, the great Father ! kindled at one flame The world of rationals ; one fpirit pour'd prom fpirit's awiful fountain ; pour'd Himfelf Thro' all their fouls ; but not in equal ftream,. Profufe, or frugal, of th' infpiring God, As his wife plan demanded ; and when pad Their various trials, in their various fpheres, If they continue rational, as made, Reforbs them all into Himfelf again ; His throne their centre, and his fmile their crown. Why doubt we, then, the gloriaut truth to fing, Tho' yet unfung, as deem'd, perhaps, too bold ? Angels are men of a fuperior kind ; Angels are men in lighter habit clad, High o'er celeftial mountains wing'd in flight ; And men are angels, loaded for an hour, Who wade this miry vale, and climb with pain, And ilipp'ry itep, the bottom of the fteep. Angels their failings, mortals have their praife j While Here, of corps ethereal, fuch enroll 'd, And fummon'd to the glorious Standard Toon, Which flames eternal crimfon thro' the ikies. . Nor are our brothers thoughtlefs of their kin, Yet abfent; but not abfent from their love. MICHAEL han fought our battles ; RAPHAEL fung Our triumphs ; GADRIBL on our errands flown, Sent by the SOVEREIGN : and are thefe, O man ! Thy 88 TH E COMPLAINT. Night 4, Thy friends, thy warm allies? And Thou ({hame burn The cheek to cinder !) rival to the brute i Religion's All. Defcending from the fkies To wretched man, the goddefs in her left Holds out this world, and, in her right, the next ; Religion ! the fole voucher man is man ; Supporter fole of man above himfelf ; Ev'n in this night of frailty, change, and death, She gives the foul a foul that a&s a god. Religion ! Providence ! an AfteMtate ! Here is firm footing ; here is folid rock ! This can fupport us ; all is fea befides ; Sinks under ns ; beilorms, and then devours. His hand the good man fa/lens on the flues, And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl. As when a wretch, from thick, polluted air, Darknefs, and flench, and fuffocating damps, And dungeon-horrors, by kind fate, difcharg'd, Climbs fome fair eminence, where Ether pure Surrounds hiai, and El^jian profpetb rife, His heart exults, his fpirits caft their load ; As if new-born, he triumphs in the change ; So joys the foul, when from inglorious aims, And fordid fweets, from feculence and froth Of ties terreftrial, fet at large, {he mounts To Reajlns region, her own element, Breathes hopes humor ca), and aiTefts the ikies, Religion ! thou the foul of happinefs ; And, groaning Calvary, of thee ! There fhine The nobleft truths j there ftrongcft motives Jling ; There THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH. $9 There facred violence aflaults the foul ; There, nothing but ccmpulficn is forborn. Can love allure us ? or can terror awe ? He weeps ! the falling drop puts out the fun ; He fighs the figh earth's deep foundation makes. If in his love fo terrible, what then His wrath inflam'd? his tendernefs on fire ? Like foft, fmooth oil, outblazing other fires ? Can pray'r, can praife avert it? Thou, my Allt My theme ! my infpiration ! and my crown L My ftrength in age ! my rife in low eftate ! My foul's ambition, pleafure, wealth! my world I My light in darknefs ! and my life in death I My boaft thro' time ! blifs thro' eternity ! Eternity, too ihort to fpeak thy praife ! Or fathom thy profound of love to man ! To man of men the meaneft, ev'n to me ; My facrifice ! my God ! what things are thefe ! What thenartTHOU ? by what name (hall! callThee? Knew I the name devout archangels ufe, Devout archangels mould the name enjoy, By me unrival'd ; thoufands more fublime, None half fo dear, as that, which, tho' unfpoke Still glows at heart : O how omnipotence Is loit in love ! Thou great PEIILANTHROPIST ! Father of angels ! but the friend of man ! Like JACOB, fondeft of the younger born ! Thou, who didil fave him, fnatch the fmoking brand From out the flames, and quench it in thy blood ! How art thou pleas'd, by bounty to diftrefs ! To 9 THE COMPLAINT. Night 4, To make us groan beneath our gratitude, Too big for birth ! to favour, and confound ;: To challenge, and to difhnce all return ! Of lavifii love ftupendous lights to foar, And leave praife panting in the diftant vale ! Thy right too great, defrauds thee of thy due; And facrilegious our fublimeil fong. But fince the naked nvi/l obtains thy fmile, Beneath this monument of praife unpaid, And future life fymphonious to my {train, (That nobleft hymn to heav'n !) for ever lie Intomb'd my fear of death ! and ev'ry fear, The dread of ev'ry evil, but Thy frown. Whom fee I yonder, fo demurely fmile ? Laughter a labour, and might break their reft. Ye quietifts, in homage to the fkies ! Serene ! of foft addrefs ! who mildly make An unobtrufive tender of your hearts, Abhorring violence ! who bait indeed ; But, for the bleffing, nvreftk not with heav'n ! Think you my fong too turbulent ? too warm ? Are paffions, then, the pagans of the foul ? Rcaj'un alone baptiz'd? alone ordain 1 'd To touch things facred ? Oh for warmer ftill! Guilt chills my zeal, and age benumbs my pow'rs Oh for an humbler heart, and prouder fong ! THOU, my much-injur'd theme! with that fofc eye,. Which melted o'er doom'd Salem, deign to look Companion to the coldnefs of my breaft ; And pardon to the wi:.ter in my drain. THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH. $x Oh ye cold-hearted, frozen, formalifts ! On fuch a theme, 'tis impious to be calm; Paflion is reafon, tranfport temper, here. Shall heav'n, which gave us ardor, and has fhevvii Her own for man fo ftrongly, not difdain What fmooth emollients in theology, Recumbent virtue's downy doctors preach, That profe of piety, a lukewarm praife ? Rife odours fweet from incenfe uninflan? d ? Devotion, when lukewarm, is undevout ; But when it glows, its heat is flruck to heav'n ; To human hearts her golden harps a*e ftrung ; High heav'n's orcheftra chaants atnen to man. Hear I, or dream I hear, their diftant ftrain, Sweet to the foul, and tailing flrong of heav'a, Soft-wafted on celeflial pity's plume, Thro' the vaft fpaces of the univerfe, To chear me in this melancholy gloom ? Oh when WJU Jfqfjlr (nQw ittnglejfs) like a friend, Admit me of their choir ? O when will death, This mould'ring, old, partition-wall throw down ? Give beings, one in nature, one abode ? Oh death divine ! that giv'ft us to the flties ! Great future ! glorious patron of the po/t, And prefeat ! when ihall I thy (hrine adore ? From nature's continent* immenfely wide, Immenfely bleft, this little ijle tfliff, This dark, incarcerating co/enj, Divides us. Happy day ! that breaks our chain ; That manumits j that calls from exile home ; That 92 THE COMPLAINT. Night That leads to nature's great metropolis, And re-admits us, thro' the guardian hand Of elder brothers, to our Father's tnronc ; Who hears our Advocate, and, thio' hi; wounds Beholding man, allows that tender i 'Tis this makes Chriftian triumph a command : "Tis this makes joy a duly to the wife ; *Tis impious in a good man to be fad. See thou, LOREKZO ! where hangs all our hope! Touch'd by the Crofs, we live ; or, more than die ; That touch which toach'd not angels ; more divines Than that which touch'd confuf;on into form, And darknefs into glory ; partial touth ! Ineffably pre-eminent regard ! Sacred to man, and fov'reign thro' the whole Long golden chain of miracles, which hangs From heav'n thro' all duration, and fupports In one illuftrious, and amazing plan, T~)' yvsifare, nature! and thy God's renown ; That touch, with charm celeftial, heats the foul Difeas'd, drives pain from guilt, lights life in death, Turns earth to heav'n, toheav'nly thrones transfon The ghaftly ruins of the mould'ring tomb. Doft aflc me when ? When He who dy'd returns ; Returns, how chang'd ! Where then the man of i In glory's terrors all the godhead burns ; And all his courts, exhaufted by the tide Of deities triumphant in his train, Leave a ftupendous folitude in heav'n ; Replenifht foon, replejufht with incrcafe Of THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH. 93 Of pomp, and multitude ; a radiant band !)f angels new; of angels from the tomb. Is this by fancy thrown remote ? and rife Dark doubts between the promife, and event? fend thee not to volumes for thy cure ; R.ead \ature ; Nature is a friend to truth ; Nature is Chrijtian; preaches to mankind; And bids dead matter aid us in our creed. Haft thou ne'er feen the comet's flaming flight ? Th' illuftricus ftrangcr pafling, terror fheds On gazing nations, from his fiery train Of length enormous, takes his ample round Thro' depths of Ether ; coafts unnumber'd worlds, Of more than folar glory ; doubles wide Heav'n's mighty cape ; and then revifits earth, From the long travel of a thoufand years. Thus, at the deftin'd period, fhall return HE, once on earth, who bids the comet blaze:] n And, with Him, all our triumph o'er the tomb. Nature is dumb on this important point; Or hope precarious in low whifper breathes ; Faith fpeaks aloud, diltindl; ev'n adders hear; But turn, and dart into the dark again. Faith builds a bridge acrofs the gulph of death, To break the fliock blind nature cannot fliun, And lands thought fmoothly on the farther fhore. Death's terror is the mountain faith removes ; That mountain barrier between man and peace. Tis faith difarms deftru&ion ; and ablblves From ev'ry clam'rous charge, the guiltlefs tomb. 4 Why 94- THE COMPLAINT. Night 4. Why difbelieve? LORENZO! " Reafon bids, All-facred reafon. "Hold her facred ftill ; Nor (halt thou want a rival in thy flame : All facred reafon ! fource, and foul, of all Demanding praife, on earth, or earth above ! My heart is thine : Deep in its inmoit folds, Live thou with life ; live dearer of the two. Wear I the blefied Crofs, by fortune ftampt On paflive nature, before thought was born ? My birth's blind bigot ! fir'd with local zeal ! No ; reafon re-baptiz'd me when adult ; Weigh'd true, and falfe, in her impartial fcale ; My heart became the convert of my head ; And made that choice, which once was but my fate* " On argument alone my faith is built :" Reafon purfu'd is faith ; and, unpurfu'd Where proof invites, 'tis reafon, then, no more: And fuch our proof ', That, or our faith, is right, Or reafon lyes, and heav'n defign'd it 'wrong : Abfolve we This ? What, then, is blafphemy ? Fond as we are, andjuftly fond, of faith, Reafon, we grant, demands our firft regard ; The mother honour'd, as the daughter dear. Reafon the root, fair faith is but the flower ; The fading flower mail die ; but reafon lives Immortal, as her Father in the Pick's. When/a// is virtue, reafon makes it fo. Wrong not the Chriitian ; think not reafon yours : 'Tis reafon our great Majter holds fo dear ; 'Tis rea/tit's injur'd rights His wrath refents j 'Til. THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH. 95 Tis reafin's voice obey'd His glories crown ; To give loft reafcn life, He pour'd his own : Believe, and mew the reafon of a m.in ; klieve, and tafle the pleafure of a God ; Jelieve, and look with triumph on the tomb: Thro' rex/en's wounds alone thy fait b can die ; Which dying, tenfold terror gives to death, And dips in venom his twice-mortal fting. .Learn hence what honours, what loud/*-,/, due To thofe, who pufli our antidote afide ; Thofe boafted friends to reafon, and to man, Whofe fatal love ftabs ev'ry joy, and leaves Death's terror heighten'd, gnawing on his heart. Thefe pompous ions of reafcn idoliz'd And vilify 'd at once ; of reafon dead, Then deify 'd, as monarchs were of old.; What conduft plants proud laurels on their brow ? While love of truth thro' all their camp refounds, They draw /r/V.*' VOL. IFF. F NIGHT NIG FIT the FIFTH. THE RELAPSE. NIGHT the FIFTH. THE RELAPSE. To the RIGHT HONOURABLE The Earl of LITCHFIELD. LORENZO! to recriminate is juft. Fondnefs for fame is avarice of air. 1 grant the man is vain who writes for praife. Praife no man e'er deferv'd, who fought no more. As juft fay fecand charge . I grant the mufe Has often bluflu at her degen'rate fons, Retain'd by fenfs to plead her filthy caufe; To raife the low, to magnify theinean, And fubtilize the grofs into refin'd : As if to magic numbers' powerful charm 'Twas given, to make a civet of their long Obfcene, and fweeten ordure to peifume. Wit, a true pagan, deifies the brule, And lifts our fvvine-enjoyments from the mire. f 3 The J02 THE COMPLAINT. Night 5, The faft notorious, nor obfcure the caufe. We wear the chains of pleafure, and of pride. Thefe fhare the man ; and thefe diftraft him too ; Draw different ways, and clafh in their commands* Pride, like nn eagle, builds among the ftars ; But pJea/fri, lark-like, nefts upon the ground. Joys fhar'd by brute-creation, pride refents ; fleafure embraces : Man would both enjoy, And both at once : A point how hard to gain ! But, what can't wit, when flung by ftrong djefire ? Wit dares attempt this arduous enterpiize. Since joys of/en/e can't rife to rea/on's tafte ; Jn fubtley^/gr/s laborious forge, Wit hammers out a reafon new, that Hoops To fordid fcenes, and meets them with applaufq. Wit calls the graces the chafte zone to loofej Nor lefs than a plump god to fill the bowl : /\ thoufand phantoms, and a tlvou-fand fpells, A thoufand opiates fcatters, to delude, To fafcinate, inebriate, lay afleep, And the fool'd mind delightfully confound. Thus that which fhock'd t\\e judgment, fliocks no more; That which gave pride ofience, no more offends. fhnfure and pride, by nature mortal fees, At war eternal, which in man fhall reign, By iiv'/'s addrefs, patch up a fatal peace, And hand in hand lead on the rank debauch, From rank, refin'd to delicate and gay. Art, curfed art \ wipes off th' indebted blufh From nature's cheek, and bronzes ev'ry lhame. Mia The RELAPSE. 103 Man fmiles in ruin, glories in his guilt, And infamy Hands candidate for praife. All writ by man in favour of the foul, Thek/enfual ethics far, in bulk, tranfcend. The flow'rs of eloquence, profufely pour'd O'erfpotted vice, fill half the letter'd world. Can pow'rs of genius exorcife their page, And confecrate enormities with fong ? But letnotthefe inexpiable ftrains Condemn the mufe that knows her dignity ; Nor meanly Hops at time, but holds the world As 'tis, in nature's ample field, a point, A point in her efteem ; from whence to ftart, And run the round of univerfal fpace, To vifit Being univerfal there, And Being's Source, that utmoft fright of mind ! Yet, fpite of this fo vaft circumference, Well knows,, but what is moral, nought is great? Sing fyrens only ? Do not angels fing ? There is in poefy a decent pride, Which well becomes her when fhe fpaaks to profe- t Her younger fitter ; haply, not more wife. Think'ft thou, LORENZO! to find paftimes here ? No guilty paflion blown into a flame, No foible flatter'd, dignity difgrac'd, No fair}' field of fidion, all on flow'r, No rainbow colours, here, or filken tale: But folemn counfels, images of awe, Truths, which eternity lets fall on man With double weight, thro' thefe revolving fpheres, F 4 This 104 THE COMPLAINT. Nuht 5. This death-deep filence, and incumbent made : Thoughts^ fuch as {hall revifit your laft hour ; Vifit uncall'd, and live when life expires ; And t>y dr.rk pencil, miiliigbt ! darker ftiil In melancholy dipt, embrowns the whole. Yet this, ev'n this, my laughter- loving friends ! LORENZO ! and thy brothers of the fmile ! If, what imports you molt, can molt engage, Shall fteal your car, and chain you to my fong. Or if you fail me, know, the wife mail tafte The truths I Jing ; the truths I fing mall feel ; And, feeling, give afient; and their aflent Is ample recompcnce ; is more than praiie. But chiefly thine, O LITCHFIEI.D ! nor miilake^ Think not un-introduc'd I force my way ; NARCISSA, net unknown, not unally'd, By virtue, or by blood, iilultrious youth ! To thee, from blooming amaranthine bow'fs, Where all the language harmony, defcends Uncall'd, and afks admittance for the mufe : A mufe that will not pain thee with thy praife ; Thy praife (he drops, by nobler {till infpir'd. O Thou ! Bleit Spirit ! whether the fupreme, Great antemunda.ne Father ! in whofe breaft Embryo creation, unborn being, dwelt, And all its various revolutions roll'd Prefent, tho' future ; prior to themfelves ; Whofe breath can blow it into nought again j Or, from his throne fome delegated pow'r, Who, iludious of our peace, doft turn the thought From The RELAPSE. 105 From vain and vile, to folid and fublime! Unfeen thou lead'ft me to delicious draughts Of infpiration, from a purer ftream, And fuller of the god, than that which burft From fam'd Caftalia : Nor is yet allay'd My facred thirft } tho' long my foul has rang'd Thro' pleafing paths of moral, and divine* By Thee fuftain'd, and lighted by the STARS. By them beft lighted are the paths of thought-^ Nights are their Jays, their moft illumin'd hours. By day, the foul, o'crborne by life's career, Stunn'd by the din, and giddy with the glare, Reels far from reafon, joftled by the throng. By day the foul is paflive, all her thoughts Impos'd, precarious, broken ere mature. By night, from obje&s free, from paffion cool, Thoughts uncontroul'd, and unimprefs'd, the births Of pure ele&ion, arbitrary range, Not to the limits of one world confin'd ; But from ethereal travels light on earth, As voyagers drop anchor, for repofe. Let Indians, and the gay, like Indians, fond Of feather'd fopperies, the fun adore: Darknefs has more divinity for me ; It (hikes thought inward ; it drives back th* foul To fettle on HerfeK, our point fupreme ! There lies our theatre ! there fits our judge. Darknefs the curtain drops o'er life's dull fcene; 'Tis the kind hand of Providence Itretcht out 'Twixt man and vanity ; 'tis reafon's reign, F 5 And xo6 THE COMPLAINT. Night 5, And virtue's too ; thefe tutelary (hades Are man's oj'ylum from the tainted throng. Ki*lt is the good man's/r/VW, and guardian too j Jt no lefs rejcues virtue, than infpires. Virtue, for aver frail, as fair, below, Her tender nature fuffers in the croud, Nor touches on the world, without a ftain : '1 he world's infectious ; few bring back at eve, Jrnmacul;.t*, the manners of the morn. Something we thought, is blotted ; we refol-Jd,. Is fhaken ; we renounced, returns again. Each falutation may flide in a fin Unthought before, or fix a former flaw. Nor is it llrange : Light, motion, contourfe, no. ; >, All, fcatter us abroad; thought outward-bound, Neglectful of our home affairs, flies oft In fame and diffipation, quits her charge, And leaves the breail unguarded to the foe. Preftnt example gets within our guard , And adls with double force, by few repeli'd. j4>nlition fires ambition ; hi>e of %ain Strikes, like a peftilence, from brcaft to breail; Rio', pride, perfidy, blue vapours breathe ; And inhumanity is caught from man, From.fmiling man. A flight, a fingle glance, And fl.ot at random, often has brought home A fudden fever, to the throbbing heart, Of en-zy, rancour, or impure dejire. We iee, we hear, with peril ; Safety dwells Reiuoie froai multitude ; the world's a fchool Of The RELAPSE. 107 Of TWC/J?, and what proficients fwarm around ! We mult, or imitate, or difapprove ; Muft lift as their accomplices, or foes ; That ftains our innocence ; this wounds our peace. From nature's birth, hence, luifdom has been fmit With fweet recefs, and langmfln for the (hade. This facred {hade, andfolitude, what is it ? 'Tis the felt prefence of the Deity. Few are the faults we flatter when alone. Vice finks in her allurements, is ungilt, And looks, like other objefts, black by night.. By night an Atheift half-believes a God. Night is fair viitue's immemorial friend ; The confcious moon, thro' ev'ry diftant age,, Has held a lamp to &, irrevocably laps'd, And mingled with the fea. Or fhall we fay (Retaining flill the brook to bear us on) That life is like a veffel on the ftream ? In life embark'd, we fmoothly down the tide Oft:;ne defcend, but not on time intent ; Amus'd, unconfcious of the gliding wave ; Till on a fudden we perceive a (hock ; We ftart, awake, look out ; what fee we there ? ,, Our brittle bark is burft on Charon's fhore. Is this- the caufe death flies all human thought ? Or is it judgment , by the 'will {truck blind, That domineering miftrefs of the foul ! Like him fo ftrong, by Dalilah the fair ? Or is it fear turns ftartled reafon back* From looking down a precipice fo ileep ? 'Tis dreadful ; and the dread is wifely plac'd, By nature, confcious of the make of man. A dreadful friend it is, a terror kind, A flaming fword to guard the tree of life. By that unaw'd, in life's moft fmiling hour, The good man would repine j would fuffer joys, And burn impatient for his promis'd Ikies. The bad, on each punctilious pique of pride, Or gloom of humour, would give rage the rein ; Bound o'er tke barrier, rufli into the dark, And mar the fchemes of Providence below. What groan was that, LORENZO ? Furies ! rife ; And i j 6 THE COMPLAINT. Night 5. And drown in your lefs execrable yell, Jtritannia's fhame. There took her gloomy flight, On wing impetuous, a black fallen foul, Blafted from hell, with horrid lull of death. Thy friend, the brave, the gallant AltamonL, So call'J, fo thought And then he fled the field. Lefs bafe the fear of death, than fear of life. O Britain) infamous for Suicide ! An ijland in thy manners ! far disjoin'd From the whole world of rationah befide ! In ambient waves plunge thy polluted head, Wafh the dire ftain, nor mock the continent. But thou be fhock'd, while I deted the caufe Of felf-affault, expofe the monfter's birth, And bid abhorrence hifs it round the world. Blame not thy clime, nor chide the diftant fun ; The fun is innocent, thy clime abfolv'd : Immoral climes kind nature never made. The caufe I fing, in Eden might prevail, And proves, It is thy folly, not thy fate. The foul of man (let man in homage bow, "Who names his/oulj, a native of the Ikies I High-born, and free, her freedom mould maintain,. Unfold, unraortgag'd for earth's little bribes. Th' illuftrious ftranger, in this foreign land, Like ftrangers, jealous of her dignity, Studious of home, and ardent to return, Of earth fufpicious, eartb's inchanted cup With cool referve light touching, mould indulge, Oa The RELAPSE. ^17 On immortality, her godlike tafte ; ybere take large draughts ; make her chief banquet there. Butfome rejedl this fuftenance divine ; To beggarly vile appetites defcend ; Aflc alms of earth, for guefts that came from heav'*! Sink into flaves ; and fell, for prefetrt hire, Their rich reverfion, and (what mares its fate) Their native freedom, to the prince who fways This nether world. And when his payments fail, When his foul bafket gorges them no more, Or their. pail'd. palates loath the bafket full j Are inftantly, with wild demoniac rage, For breaking all the chains cf Providence, And burfting their confinement ; tho' fait barr'd By laws divine and human ; guarded flrong With horrors doubled to defend the pafs, The Blackeft, nature, or dire guilt can raife ; .And moated. round with fathomlefs dejlruciion, Sure to receive, and whelm them in their fall. Such, Britons ! is the caufe, to you unknown, 'Or worfe, o'erlook'd ; o'erlook'd by magiftrates, fhui criminals themfelves. I grant the deed Is madnefs ; but the madnefs of the heart. And what is that ? Our utmoit bound of guilt. A fenfual, unreflecting life, is big With rr.onftrous births, and Suicide, to crown The black infernal brood. The bold to break Heav'n's law fupreme, and dcfperately rufh Thro' facred nature's murder, on their own, Becaufe they never think of death > they die. i*8 THE COMPLAINT. Night 5. 'Tis equally man's duty, glory, gain, At once to fhun, and meditate, his end. When by the bed of languifhment we fit, (The feat of vjifJom ! if our choice, not fate) Or, o'er our dying friends, in anguifh hang, Wipe the cold dew, or flay the finking head, 'Number their moments, and, in ev'ry clock, Start at the voice of an Eternity ; See the dim lamp of life juft feebly lift An agonizing beam, at us to gaze, Then fink again, and quiver into death, That moft pathetic herald of our own ; How read we fuch fad fcenes ? As fent to man In perfeft vengeance ? No ; in pity fent, To melt him down, like wax, and then imprefs, Indelible, death's image on his heart ; Bleeding for others, trembling for himfelf. We bleed, we tremble, we forget, we fmile. The mind turns fool, before the cheek is dry. Our quick-returning/c/^ cancels all ; As the tide rufhing rafes what is writ In yielding fands, and fmooths the letter'd more. LOR ENZO ! haft thou ever weigh'd *.ftgb ? Or ftudy'd the philofophy of lean ? (A fcience, yet unlcclur'd in our fchools !) Haft thou defcended deep into the breaft, And feen their fource ? If not, defcend with me, And trace thefe briny riv'lets to their fprings. Our fun'ral tears, from diff'rent caufes, rife. As if from fep'rate cifterns in the foul, 6 Of The R E i A p s E. irg Of various kinds, they flow. From tender hearts* By foft contagion call'd, fame burft at once, And itream obfequious to the leading eye. Some afk more time, by curious art diitill'd. Some hearts, in fecret hard, unapt to melt, Struck by the magic of the public eye, Like MOSES' fmitten rock, guih out amain. Some weep to mare the fame of the deceas'd, So high in nijcnt, and to them fo dear. They dwell on praifes, which they think they mare ; And thus, without a blum, commend Thenafelves. Some mourn, in proof, that fomething they could love: They weep not to relieve their grief, but foevj. Some weep in perfect juftice to the dead, Asconfcious all their love is in arrear. Seme mifchievoufly weep, not unappris'd, Tears, fometimes, aid the conqueft of an eye. With what addrefs the foft Epbejians draw Their fable net-work o'er entangled hearts ! As feen thro' chryftal, how their rofes glow, While liquid pearl runs trickling down their cheek? Of her's not prouder Egypt's wanton queen, Caroufmg gems, herfelf diflblv'd in love. Some weep at death, abftrafted from the dead* And celebrate, like CHARLES, their own deceafe. By kind conftru&ion fome are deemed to weep, Becaufe a decent veil conceals their joy. Some weep in earneft, and yet '.vcep in vain ; As deep in indifcretion, as in woe. Paffisn, blind paffion! impotently pours Tears, 120 THE COMPLAINT. Night 5. Tears, that deferve more tears ; while reafon fleeps ; Or gazes like an idiot, unconcern'd ; Nor comprehends the meaning of the florm ; Knows noc-it fpeaks t< her, and her a/cue. Irrationals ail forrow &c beneath, That noble gift ! that privilege of man ! From forro; We may, within an age, expire. Tho' grey our heads, our thoughts and aims are green ; Like d^mag'd clocks, whofe hand and bell diflent ; Folly fir.gs Six, while nature points at Twelve. Abfurd longevity ! More, More, it cries : More life, more wealth, more trafa of ev'ry kind. And wherefore mad for more, when relih fails? Q!?jc3, and appetite, mud club for joy; Sha'.iy l;u}ourhard to mend the bow, Enables, I mean, that ftrike us from ivitbsut, While nature is relaxing ev'ry ftring ? AGc thought for joy j grow rich, and hoard within. Think The RELAPSE. 123 Think you the foul, when this life's rattles ceafe, Has nothing of more manly to fucceed ? Contradl the tafte immortal ; learn ev'n Now To relilh what alone fubfifts hereafter. Divine, or none, henceforth your joyg for ever. Of age the glory is, to er isbanilht, and triumphant thought^ Calling for all the joys beneath the moon, Againft him turns the key ; and bids him fup With their progenitors He drops his maflc ; frowns out at full ; they itart, defpair, expire. Scarce with more fud Jen terror and lurprize. From his black mafque of nitre, touch'd by fire, He burfts, expands, roars, blazes, and devours* And is not this triumphant treachery, And more thayjimple (ottquef}, in the fiend P And The RELAPSE. 131 And now, LORENZO, doft thou wrap thy foul In foft fecurity, becaufe unknown Which moment is commiffion'd to deflroy ? In death's uncertainty thy danger lies. Is death uncertain i Therefore Thou be fixt ; Fixt as a centinel, all eye, all ear, All expeftation of the coming foe. Roufe, ftand in arms, nor lean againft thy fpear ; Left flumber ftealone moment o'er thy foul, And fatt furprize thee nodding. Watch, be ftrong ; Thus give each day the merit, and renown, Of dying well ; tho' doom'd but once to die. Nor let life's period hidden (as from moft) Hide too from Thee the precious ufe of life. Early, not fudden, was NARCISSA'S fate. Soon, not furprifmg, death hisvifit paid. Her thought went forth to meet him on his way, Nor gaiety forgot it was to die : Tho' fortune too (our third and final theme), As an accomplice, play'd her gaudy plumes, And ev'ry glitt'ring gewgaw, on her fight, To dazzle, and debauch it from its mark. Death's dreadful advent is the mark of man;; And ev'ry thought that mi fles it, is blind. Fortune, with youth and gaiety, confpir'd To weave a triple wreath of happinefs (If happinefs on earth) to crown her brow. And could death charge thro' fuch a mining fliield ? That mining fhield invites the tyrant's fpcar, As if to damp our elevated aims, And flrongly preach humility to man. G 6 Obow- J 32 THE COMPLAINT. Night 5. O how portentous is profperity ! How, comet-like, it threatens, while it mines ! Few years but yield us proof of death's ambition, To cull his victims from the faireft fold, And Iheath his (hafts in all the pride of life. When flooded with abundance, purpled o'er With recent honours, bloom'd with ev'ry blifs, Set up in oflentation, made the gaze, The gaudy centre, of the public eye, When fortune thus has tofs'd her child in air, Snatcht from the covert of an humble ftate, How often Jiave I feen him dropt at once, Our morning's envy ! and our ev'ning's figh ! As if her bounties were the fignal giv'n, The flow'ry wreath to mark the facrifice, And call death's arrows on the deftin'd prey. High fortune feems in cruel league with fate* Afk you for what ? To give his war on man The deeper dread, and more illuftrious fpoii; Thus to keep daring mortals more in awe. And burns LORENZO flill for the fublime Of life ? to hang his airy neft on high, On the flight timber of the topmoft bough, Rockt at each breeze, and menacing a fall ? Granting grim death at equal diftance there ; - Yet peace begins juft where ambition ecds. What makes man wretched ? Happinefs denfd? LORENZO! no: 'Tis happinefs difdaind. She comes too meanly dreft to win our fmile ; And calls herfelf Content, a homely name ! Our flame is Iran/forty and tonisnt our fcorn. Amlition The RELAPSE. 133 Ambition turns, ana fhuts the door againft her, And weds a toil, a tempeft, in her ftead ; A tempeft to warm tranfport near of kin. Unknowing what our mortal ftate admits, Life's modeft joys we ruin, while we raife ; And all our ecftafies are wounds to peace ; Peace, the full portion ot mankind below. And fince thy peace is dear, ambitious youth ! Of fortune fond ! as thoughtlefs of thy fate I As late I drew deaths picture, to ftir up Thy wholfome fears ; now, drawn in contrail, fee Gay fortune's, thy vain hopes to reprimand. See, high in air, the fportive goddefs hangs, Unlocks her cafket, fpreads her glittering ware, And calls the giddy winds to puff abroad Her random bounties o'er the gaping throng. All rufh rapacious ; friends o'er trodden friends ; Sons o'er their fathers, fubje&s o'er their kings, Priefts o'er their gods, and lovers o'er the fair, (Still more ador'd) to fnatch the golden fhow'r. Gold glitters moft, where virtue mines no more ; As ftars from abfent funs have leave to Ihine. O what a precious pack of votaries Unkennell'd from the prifons,. and the (lews. Pour in, all op'ning in their idol's praife ; All, ardent, eye each wafture of her hand, And, wide-expanding their voracious jaws, Moriel on morfel fwallow down unchevv'd, Untafted, thro' mad appetite for more ; Gorg'dto the throat, yet lean and rav'nous ftill. Sagacious All, to trace the fmallcil game, And 134 THE COMPLAINT. Night 5. And bold to feize the greateft. If (bleft chance !) Court'zephyrs fweetly breathe, they launch, they fly, O'er juft, o'er facred, all-forbidden ground, Drunk with the burning fcent of place or pow'r, Staunch to the foot of lucre, till they die. Or, if for men you take them, as I mark Their manners, thou their various fates furvey. With aim mif-meafur'd, and impetuous fpeed, Some darting, ftrike their ardent wifh far ofF, Thro' fury to poflefs it : Some fucceed, But (tumble, and let fall the taken prize. from/ome, by fudden blafts, 'tis whirl'd away, And lodg'd in bofoms that ne'er dreamt of gain. To fame it flicks fo clofe, that, when torn off, Torn is the man, and mortal is the wound. Some, o'er-enamour'd of their bags, run mad, Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread. Together fame (unhappy rivals !) feiae, And rend abundance into poverty; Loud croaks the raven of the law, and fmiles r Smiles too the godddefs ; but fmiles mod at thofe, (Juft victims of exorbitant defire !) Who perifh at their own requeft, and, whelm'd Beneath her load of lavifh grants, expire. Fortune is famous for her numbers flain, The number fmall, which happinefs can bear. Tho' various for a while their fates ; at laft One curfe involves them all : At death's approach, All read.their riches backward into lofs, And mourn, in juft proportion to their ftore. And death's approach (if orthodox my fong) The RELAPSE. 135 Is haften'd by the lore of fortune's fmiles. And art thou {till a glutton of bright gold ? And art thou ftill rapacious of thy ruin ? Death Joves a ihining mark, a fignal blow ; A blow, which, while it executes, alarms ; And Itartles thoufands with a fingle fall. As when fome ftately growth of oak, or pine, Which nods aloft, and proudly fpreads her made, The fun's defiance, and the flock's defence ; By the ftrong ftrokes of lab'ring hinds fubdu'd, Loud groans her lafl, and, rufhing from her height, In cumbrous ruin, thunders to the ground : The confcious Foreft trembles at the mock, And hill, and ftream, and diftant dale, refound. Thefe high-aim'd darts of death >, and thefe alone. Should I colled, my quiver would be full. A quiver, which, fufpended in mid air, Or near heav'n's archer, in the zodiaclc, hung, (So could it-be) Jkould draw the public eye, The gaze and contemplation of mankind ! A constellation awful, yet benign, To guide thej^y through life's tempeftuous wave; Nor fuffer them to ftrike the common rock, " From greater danger to grow more fecure, *' And, wrapt in happinefs, forget their fate.** LY SANDER, happy paft the common lot, Was warn'd of danger, but too gay to fear. He woo'd the fair ASPASIA : She was kind: In youth, form, fortune, fame, they both were bleft : All who knew, envy'd ; yet in envy lov'd : Can fancy form more finifht happinefs i 5 Fi*t 136 THE COM PL A i NT, &c. Night 5. Fixt was the nuptial hour. Her (lately dome Rofe on the founding beach. The glittering fpires Float in the wave, and break againft the fhore : So break thofe glitt'rinj; fhadows, humar. joys. The faithlefs morning fmii'd : he takes his leave, To re- embrace, in eckafies, at eve. The rifing ftorm forbids. The news arrives: Untold, fhe faw it in her fervant's eye. She felt it feen (her heart was apt to feel) ; And, drown'd, without the furious ocean's aid, In fuffocating forrows, (hares his tomb. Now, round the fumptuous, bridal monument, The guilty billows innocently roar ; And the rough failor paffing, drops a tear. A tear ? Can tears fufh'ce ? But not fcr mt. How vain our efforts ! and our arts, how vain ! The dijlant train of thought I took, to (hun, Has thrown me on my fate Tbefc died together; Happy in ruin ! undivorc'd by death ! Or ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace NARCISSA ! Pity bleeds at thought of thee. Yet thou waft only near me ; not myfelf. Survive myfelf? That cures all other woe. NARCISSA lives j PHILANDER is forgot. O the foft commerce ! O the tender tyes, Clofe-roifled with the fibres of the heart ! Which, broken, break them ; and drain off the foul Of human jey ; and make it pain to live And is it then to live ? When/ar friends part, 'Tis the furvivor dies My heart, no more. / NIGHT NIGHT the SIXTH. THB INFIDEL Reclaimed, [ '39 J {44 4~f*.fr 4 ****** $ * * * f * f * * * * * *fffttft** ++ + > * fr > .|, .{, j. ,}l fl -H.^^^^ {. fr * .|. .|. * * fr f NIGHT the SIXTH. THE INFIDEL Reclaimed. IN TWO PARTS. CONTAINING The NATURE, PROOF, and IMPORTANCE, of IMMORTALITY. PART THE FIRST. Where, among other Things, GLORY and RICHES are particularly confidered. To the RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY PELHAM, firft LORD COMMISSIONER, of the TREASURY, and CHANCELLOR of the EXCHEQUER. PREFACE. Z^ W ages have been deeper in Jifpute about religioft t than this. The difpute about religion, and the prafiice fit, f el Jam go together. The Jborter y therefore, the Jif- pute the better. I think it may be reduced to this Jingle quejiion, Is man immortal, or is he not ? If he is not y all tur difputes are mere amufements> or trials ofjkill. In thlt eoff, truth, reafon, religion, which givt our difcourfes fuck Ho PREFACE. fucb pomp andfolemnity, are (as in-ill be Jhewr.) mere empty found, without any meaning in them. But if man is im- mortal, it will behove him to be very fericus about eternal ' confequences ; or, in ether 'words, to be truly religious. And this great fundamental truth, uneftablijhed, orunawaken'd in the minds of men, is, I conceive, the real fourct and fupport of all our injidelity ; how remote Jbet-er the far ti- tular objections ad-van ad may feem to be front it. Senfiblc appearances a/efi moji men much mere than abftraft reafcnings ; and od, Or, fpider-like, fpin out our piecious All, Cur more than vitals fpin (if no regard To great futurity) in curious webs Of fubtle thought, and exquiiite defign ; (Fine net-work of the brain !) to catch a fly ! The momentary buz of vain renown ! A name! a mortal immortality ! Or (meaner ftill !) inftead of grafping air, For fordid lucre plunge we in the mire ? Drudge, fvveat, thro* ev'ry fhame, for ev'ry gain, For vile contaminating tram ; throw up Our hope in heav'n, our dignity with man ? And deify the dirt, matur'd to gold i Amli The INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 149 Ambition, av'rice; the two damons thefe, Which goad thro' every flough our human herd, Hard-travell'd from the cradle to the grave. How low the wretches floop ! How fleep they climb ! Thefe damans burn mankind ; but moft poflefs LORENZO'S bofom, and turn out the fkies. Is it in time to hide eternity ? And why not in an atom on the more To cover ocean r or a mote, the fun ? Glory and ivealtb ! have they this blinding pow'r ? \Vhat if to them I prove LORENZO blind ? Would it furprife thee ? Be thou then furpris'd; Thou neither know'ft : Their nature learn fiom inc. Mark well, as foreign as thefe JubjeHs feem, What clofe connexion ties them to my theme. Firft, what is true ambition ? The purfuit Of glory, nothing //} than man can fliare. Were they as vain, as gaudy-minded man, As flatulent with fumes of felf-applaufe, Their arts and conquefts animals might boa.'l, And claim their laurel crowns, as well as We; But not celcjliaL Here we fland akne ; As in our form, diflir.ft, pre-eminent ; If prone in thought, our ftature is our fhame ; And man mould blufh, his forehead meets the ikies. The fee the bufkin'd chief Unmod behind this momentary fcene ; Reduc'd to his own ftature, low or high, As vice, or virtue, finks him, or fublimes ; And laugh at this fantaftic mummery, This antic prelude of grotefque events, Where dwarfs are often (lilted, and betray A littlenefs of foul by worlds o'er-run, And nations laid in blood. Dread facrifice To Ckriftian pride ! which had with horror fhockt The darkeft pagans, offer'd to their gods. O thou moft Chriftian enemy tojseace ! Again in arms ? Again provoking fate ? That prince, and That alone, is truly great, Who draws the fword relulant, gladly fheathes; On empire builds what empire far outweighs, And makes his throne a fcuffbld to the ikies. Why this fo rare ? Becaufe forgofcof all The day of death ; that venerable day, Which fits as judge ; that day, which fhall pronounce On all our days, abfolve them, or condemn. LORENZO, never fliut thy thought againft it j H 5 Be 1 54 THE COMPLAINT. Night 6, Be levees ne'er fo full, afford it room, And give it audience in the cabinet. That friend cocfulted, flatteries apart, Will teil thee fair, if thou art great, or mean. To doat on aught may leave us, or be left, Is That ambition ? Then let flames defcend t Point to the centre their inverted fpires, And learn humiliation from a foul, Which boafts her lineage from celeflial fire.. Yet tbefe are they, the world pronounces wife ; The world, which cancels nature's right and wrong.. And calls new wifdom: Ev'n the grave man lends His folemn face, to countenance the coin. Wifdom for parts is madftefs for the whole. This flamps the paradox, and gives us leave To call the wifefl weak, the richefl poor, The moil ambitious, unambitious, mean ; In triumph, mean; and abjei5l, on a throne. Nothing can make it lefs than mad in man, To put forth all his .ardour, all his art, And give his foul her full unbounded flight, But reaching Him, who gave her wings to fly. When blind ambition quite miflakes her road, And downward pores, for that which fhines above, Subilantial happinefs, and true renown ; Then, like an idiot, gazing on the brook, We leap at liars, and fatten in the mud ; At glory grafp, ami fink in infamy. Jlmbiticn ! pow'rful fource of good and ill ! Thy flrength in man; like length of wing in birJs, When The INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 155 When difengag'd from earth, with greater eafe And fwifter flight tranfports us to the flues ; By toys entangled, or in guilt bemir'd, It turns a curfe ; it is our chain, and fcourge, In this dark dungeon, where confin'd we lie, Clofe-grated by the fordid bars offenfe ; All profpedl of eternity {hut out ; And, but for execution, ne'er fet free. With error in ambition juftly charg'd, Find we LORENZO wifer in his wealth ? What if thy rental I reform ? and draw An inventory ew to fet thee right ? Where, thy true treafure? Gold fays, "Not in me:" And, " Not in me," the di'mond. Gold is poor; India's infolvent : Seek it in thyfelf, Seek in thy naked felf, and find it there ; In being fo defcended, form'd, endow'd ; Sky-born, fky-guided, fky- returning race! Erect, immortal, rational, divine! In fenfes, which inherit earth, and heav'ns ;: Enjoy the various riches nature yields ; Far nobler! give the riches they enjoy j Give tafle to fruits ; and harmony to groves j Their radiant beams to gold, and gold's bright fire ;, Take in, at once, the jandfcape of the world, At a fmall inlet, which a grain might clofe, And half create the wond'rous world they fee. Q\irfenfes t as our rea/a/i, are divine. But for the magic organ's powerful charm, Earth were a rude, uncolonr'd chaos, {till. H 6 156 THE COMPLAINT. Night 6, Oljedi are but th' occafion ; ours th' exploit ; Ours is the cloth, the pencil, and the paint, Which nature's admirable pifture draws ; And beautifies creation's ample dome. Like Milton 's Eve, when gazing on the lake, Man makes the matchlefs image, man admires. Say then, Shall man, his thoughts all fent abroad, Superior wonders in himfelf forgot, His admiration wafte on objefts round, When Heav'n makes him the foul of all he fees ? Abfurd ! not rare ! fo great, fo mean, is man. What wealth \r\fenfes fuch as thefe ! What wealth Jn fancy ', fir'd to form a fairer fcene Thany^/7/* furveys ! In memory's firm record, Which, fliould it peril}), could this world recall From the dark Ihadows overwhelming years I In colours frelh, originally bright, Preferve its portrait, and report its fate ! What wealth in intellect, that fov'reign pow'r t V/hich/err/eandfany, fummons to the bar; Interrogates, approves, or reprehends ; And from the mafs thofe underlings import, From their materials fifted, and refin'd, And in truth's balance accurately weigh'd. Forms art, andjcience, government, and laiu.' y The folid bafis, and the beauteous frame, The vitals, and the grace of civil life ! And mannrrs (fad exception !) fet afide, Strikes out, with mader hand, a copy fair Of His idea, whofe indulgent thought Long, long, ere chaos teem'd, plann'd human blifs. What The IN F IDEL RE c L A IM E D. 157 What wealth in fouls that foar, dive, range around, Difdaining limit, or from place, or time ; And hear at once, in thought extenfive, hear Th' Almighty Fiat, and the Trumpet' s found ! Bold, on creation's cutfide walk, and view What was, and is, and more than e'er mail be ; Commanding, with omnipotence of thought, Creations new in fancy's field to rife ! Souls, that can grafp whate'er th' Almighty made, And wandqr wild thro' things impoffible ! What --wealth, in faculties of endlefs growth, In quenchlefs pajpons violent to crave, In liberty to chufe, in po-iu'r to reach, And in duration (how thy riches rife !) Duration to perpetuate boundlefs blifs L Aflc you, what/e-iuV refides in feeble man That blifs to gain ? Is virtue's, then, unknown ? Virtue, ourprefent peace, our future prize. Man's unprecarious, natural ertate, Improveable at will, in virtue lies ; Its tenure fure ; its income is divine. High-built abundance, heap on heap ! for what ? To breed new wants, and beggar us the more j Then, make a richer fcramble for the throng ? Soon as this feeble pulfe, which leaps fo long Almoft by miracle, is tir'd with play, Like rubbifli from difploding engines thrown, Our magazines of hoarded miles fly ; Fly diverfe ; fly to foreigners, to foes } New matters court, and call the former fool (Flow 158 THE COMPLAINT. Night 6. (How juftly !) for dependance on their flay. Wide fcatter, firft, our play-things ; then, our duft. Doft court abundance for the fake of peace ? Learn, and lament thy felf-defeated fcheme : Riches enable to be richer ftill ; And, richer ftill t what mortal can refift ? Thus wealth (a cruel taflc-mafter !) enjoins New toils, facceeding toils, an endlefs train ! And murders peace, which taught it firft to fliine. The poor are half as wretched as the rich ; Whofe proud and painful privilege it is, At once, to bear a double load of woe; To feel the ftings of envy, and of 'want, Outrageous want ! both Indies cannot cure. A competence is vital to content. Much wealth is corpulence, if not difeafe ; Sick, or incumber'd, is our happinefs, A competence is all we can enjoy, O be content, where heav'n can give no more ! More, like a flafli of water from a lock, Quickens our fpirits' movement for an hour ; Butfoon its force is fpent, nor rife our joys Above our native temper's common ftream. Hence difappointment lurks in ev'ry prize, As bees in flow'rs ; and ftings us with fuccefs. The rich man, who denies it, proudly feigns ; Nor knows the wife are privy to the lye. Much learning mews how little mortals knmv ; Much wealth, how little worldlings can enjoy : At bell, it babies us with endlefs toys, And The INFIDEL RECLAIMS n. 159 And keeps us children till we drop to duft. As monkeys at a mirror ftand amaz'd, They fail to find what they fo plainly fee ; Thus men, in mining riehes, fee the face Of happinefs, nor know it is a fliade; But gaze, and touch, and peep, and peep again,, And wifli, and wonder it is abfent ftilL How few can refcue opulence from want ! tVho lives to nature, rarely can be poor ; Who lives to fancy t never can be rich. Poor is the man in debt ; the man of gold, In debt to fortune, trembles at her pow'r. The man of reafon fmiles at her, and death. O what a patrimony this ! A being Of fuch inherent ftrength and majefty, Not worlds pofleft can raife it ; worlds deftroy'd Can't injure ; which holds on its glorious courfe, When thine, O Nature ! ends ; too bleft to mourn Creation's obfequies. What treafure, this! The Monarch is a beggar to the Man. Immortal! Ages paft, yet nothing gone ! Morn without eve ! a race without a goal ! Unfhorten'd by progreffion infinite ! Futurity for ever future ! Life Beginning ftill where computation ends ! 'Tis the defcription of a Deity ! 'Tis the defcription of the meaneft Jlave : The meaneft flave dares then LORENZO fcorn ? The meaneft flave thy_/3-z;'r# glory mares. Proud youth ! faftidious of the lower world ! 160 THE COMPLAINT. Night 6. Man's lawful pr,ide includes humility ; Stoops to the loweft j is too great to find Inferiors ; all immortal ! brothers all! Proprietors eternal of thy love. IMMORTAL ! What can ftrike the/enfe fo ftrong, As this the foul? It thunders to the thought ; Reafon amazes ; gratitude o'erwhelms ; No more we flumber on the brink of fate ; Rous'd at the found, th' exulting foul afcends, And breathes her native air j an air that feeds Ambitions high, and fans ethereal fires j Quick kindles all that is divine within us ; Nor leaves one loit'ring thought beneath the ftars. Has not LORENZO'S bofom caught the flame ? Immortal! Were but one immortal, how Would others envy! How would thrones adore ! Becaufe 'tis common, is the bleffing loft ? How this ties up the bounteous hand of heav'n ! O vain, vain, vain, all elfe! Eternity! A glorious, and a needful refuge, that, From vile imprifonment, in abject views. 'Tis immortality, 'tis that alone, Amid life's pains, abafements, emptir.efs t The foul can comfort, elevate, and^7/. That only, and that amply, this performs ; Lifts us above life's pains, her joys above ; Their terror tbofe, and tbefe their luftre lofe ; Eternity depending covers all ; Eternity depending all atchieves ; Sets earth at di fiance ; cafts her into {hades ; Blends The INFIDEL RECLAIMED, r&i Blcnds-her diftihftions ; abrogates her pow'rs ; The low, the lofty, joyous, and fevere, Fortune's dread frowns, and fafcinating fmiles, Make one promifcuous and neglected heap, The man beneath ; if I may call him man, Whom Immortality's full force infpires. Nothing terreftrial touches his high thought ; Suns fhine unfeen, and thunders roll unheard, By minds quite confcious of their high defcent, Their prefent province, and their future prize j Divinely darting upward ev'ry wifh, Warm on the wing, in glorious abfence loft 1 Doubt you this truth r Why labours your belief? Tf earth's whole orb by fome due diftanc'd eye Were fcen at once, her tow'ring dips would fink, And level I'd Atlas leave an even fphere. Thus earth, and all that earthly minds admire^ Is fwallow'd in Eternity's vaft round. To that ftupendous view, when fouls awake^ So large of late, fo mountainous to man, fitness toys fubfide; and equal all below. Enthufiaftic, this ? Then all are weak, But rank enthufiafts. To this godlike height Some fouls have foar'd ; or martyrs ne'er had bled* And all may do, what has by man been done. Who, beaten by thefe fublunary florins, Boundlefs, interminable joys can weigh,, Unraptur'd, unexalted, uninflam'd ? What flave unble/i, who from to-morrow's dawn Experts an empire ? He forgets his chain, And, thron'd in thought, his abfent fceptre waves. And x6z THE COMPLAINT. Night 6. And what a fceptre waits us ! what a throne I Her own immenfe appointments to compute,. Or comprehend her high prerogatives, In this her dark minority, how toils, How vainly pants, the human foul divine ! co great the bounty feems for earthly joy ; What heart but trembles at fo ftrange a blifs ? In fpite of all the truths the mufe has fung, Ne'er to be priz'd enough ! enough revolv'd ! Are there who wrap the world fo clofe about them,. They fee no farther than the clouds ; and dance On heedlefs vanity's fantaftic toe, Till, /tumbling at a ftraw, in their career, Headlong they plunge, where end both dance and fongt Are there, LORENZO } Is it polfible ? Are there on earth (let me not call them men) Who lodge a foul immortal in their breafts ; Unconfcious as the mountain of its ore ; Or rock, of ita ineflimable gem ? When rocks lhali melt, and mountains vaniih, tbefe Shall knaw their treafure j treafura, then, no more. Are there (ftill more amazing !) who refift The rifing thought ? Who fmother, in its birth, The glorious truth ? Who ftruggle to be brutes ? Who thro' this bofom-barrier burft their way, And, with reverft ambition, ftrive to fink ? Who labour downwards thro' th' oppofing pow'rs- Of inftinft, reafon, and the world againft them, To difmal hopes, and fhelter in the mock Of endlefs night j night darker than the grave's ? Who The INTIDEL- RECLAIMED, i&j Who fight the proofs of immortality ? With horrid zeal, and execrable arts, W,ork all their engines, level their black fires,. To blot from man this attribute divine, (Than vital blood far dearer to the wife) Blafphemers, and rank atheifts to thsmfeliies?' To contradict thsm, fee all nature rife ! What objeft, what event, the moon beneath* But argues, or endears, an after-fcene? To reafon proves, or weds it to defers ? All things proclaim it needful -, fome advance One precious ftep beyond, and prove it fur -e. A thoufand arguments fwarm round my pen, From beav'n, and earth, and man. Indulge a few By nature, as her common habit, worn j So prejjing Providence a truth to teach, Which truth untaught, all other truths were vaia* THOU ! whofe all-providential Eye furveys, Whofe Hand directs, whofe Spirit fills and warms Creation, and holds empire far beyond ! Eternity's Inhabitant auguft ! Of two Eternities amazing Lord ! One paft, ere man's, or angel's, had began j Aid ! while I refcue from the foe's afiaalt /jy glorious Immortality in man: A theme for ever, and for all, of weight, Of moment infinite! but relifh'd moft By thofe who love Thee moft, who moft adore. Nature, thy daughter, ever-changing birth Of Thee the Great Immutable* to man Speak* 164. THE COMPLAINT. Night 6. Speaks wifdom; is his oracle fupreme; And he who moft confults her, is moft wife. LORENZO, to this heav'nly Delpbes hafte; And come back all-immortal j all divine : Look nature through, 'tis revolution all ; All change ; no death. Day follows night ; and night The dying day ; ftars rife, and fet, and rife ; Earth takes th' example. See, the Summer gay, With her green chaplet, and ambrofial flowers, Droops into pallid Autumn : Winter grey, Horrid with froft, and turbulent with ftorm, Blows Autumn, and his golden fruits, away i Then melts into the Spring : Soft Spring, with breath Faiwnian, from waim chambers of the fouth, Recalls the/r/. All, to re-flourifh, fades; As in a wheel, all finks, to re-afcend. Emblems of man, who pafles, not expires. With this minute diftinftion, emblems juft, Stature revolves, but man advances ; both Eternal, that a circle, this a line. That gravitates, this foars. Th' afpiring foul, Ardent, and tremulous, like flame, afcends, Zeal and humility her wings, to heav'n. The world of matter, with its various forms, All dies into new life. Life born from death Rolls the vaft mafs, and (hall for ever roll. No fmgle atom, once in being, loft, With change of counfel charges the Moft High. What hence infers LORENZO ? Can it be ? Matter immortal i And fhall S fir it die i The INFIBEL RECLAIMED. 165 Above the nobler, (hall lefs noble rife ? Shall Man alone, for whom all elfe revives, No refurre&ion know ? Shall Man alone, Imperial Man ! be fown in barren ground, Lefs privileg'd than grain, on which he feeds ? Is Man, in whom alone is pow'r to prize The blifs of being, or with previous pain Deplore its period, by the fpleen of fate, Severely doom'd death's fingle unredeem'd? If nature's revolution fpeaks aloud, In her gradation, hear her louder flill. Look nature thro', 'tis neat gradation all. By what minute degrees her fcale afcends ! Each middle nature join'd at each extreme, To that above it join'd, to that beneath. Parts, into parts reciprocally fhot, Abhor divorce : What love of union reigns ! Here, dormant matter waits a call to life ; Half-life, half-death, join there; here, life and fenfe; There, fenfe from reafon fteals a glimm'ring ray ; Reafon mines out in man. But how preferv'd The chain unbroken upward, to the realms Of incorporeal life ? thofe realms of blifs, Where death hath no dominion ? Grant a make Half-mortal, half-immortal ; earthy, part, And part ethereal ; grant the foul of man Eternal ; or in man the feries ends. Wide yawns the g^p ; connexion is no more ; Check'd reafcn halts ; her next Hep wants fupport ; Striving to climb, fhe tumbles from her fcheme ; 7 A fcheme, V66 THE COMPLAINT. Night 6. A fcheme, analogy pronounc'd fo true; Analogy, Irian's fureft guide below. Thus far, all nature calls on thy belief. And will LORENZO, carelefs of the call, Falfe attestation on all nature charge, Rather than violate his league with death ? Renounce his reafon, rather than renounce The duft belov'd, and run the rifque of heav'n f O what indignity to deathlefs fouls ! What treafon to the majefty of man ! Of man immortal! Hear the lofty ftyle : " If fo decreed, th' Almighty Will be done. " Let earth difiblve, yon pond'rous orbs defcend, " And grind us into duft. The foul is fafe ; " The man emerges ; mounts above the wreck, " As tow'ring flame from nature's, fun'ral pyre ; *' O'er devallation, as a gainer, fmiles ; *' His charter, his inviolable rights, " Well-pleas'd to learn from thunder's impotence, " Death's pointlefs darts, and hell's defeated tiorms.' 1 But thefe chimeras touch not thee, LORENZO ! The glories of the world thy fev'nfold JbieU. Other ambition than of crowns in air, And fuperlunary felicities, Thy bofom warm. I'll cool it, if I can ; And turn thofe glories that inchant, againft thee* What ties thee to this life, proclaims the next. If wife, the caufe that wounds thee is thy cure. Come, my ambitious ! let us mount together (To mount, LOR EK 2,0 never can refufe) ; An* The I N FID EL RE CLAIMED. 167 And from the clouds, where pride delights to dwell, Look down on earth. What feed thou ? Wond'rous Terreftrial wonders, that eclipfe the fkies. [things! What lengths of labour'd lands ! what loaded feas ! Loaded by man, for pleafure, wealth, or war ! Seas, winds, and planets, into fervice brought, His art acknowlege, and promote his ends. Nor can th' eternal rocks his will withftand ; What levell'd mountains ! and what lifted vales I O'er vales and mountains fumptuous cities fwell, And gild our landfcape with their glitt'ring fpires. Some mid the wond'ring waves majeflic rife ; And Neptune holds a mirror to their charms. Far greater ftill ! (what cannot mortal might ?) See, wide dominions ravim'd from the deep ! The narrow'd deep with indignation foams. Or fouthwnrd turn ; to delicate and grand t The finer arts there ripen in the fun. How the tall temples, as to meet their gods, Afcend the fkies ! the proud triumphal arch Shews us half heav'n beneath its ample bend. High thro' mid air, here, flreams are taught to flow j Whole rivers, there, laid by in bafons, fleep. Here, plains turn oceans ; thirty vail oceans join , Thro' kingdoms channel'd deep from fhore to more; And chang'd creation takes its face from man. Beats thy brave breafl for formidable fcenes, Where fame and empire wait upon the fword? See fields in blood ; hear naval thunders rifg ; BRITANNIA'S voice! that awes the world to peace. 5 How 1 68 THE COMPLAINT. Night 6. How yon enormous mole proje&ing breaks The mid-fea, furious waves ! Their roar amidrV Out-fpeaks the Deity, and fays, " O main ! " Thus far, nor farther; new reflralnts obey." Earth's difembowel'd ! meafur'd are the ikies ! Stars are detefted in their deep recefs ! Creation widens ! vanquifh'd nature yields ! Her fecrets are extorted ! art prevails ! What monument of genius, fpiiit, power ! And now, LORENZO ! raptur'd at this fcene, Whofe glories render heav'n fuperfluous ! fay, "Whofe footlteps thefe ? Immortals have been here. Could lefs than fouls immortal this have done ? Earth's cover'd o'er with proofs of fouls immoral; And proofs of immortality forgot. To flatter thy grand foible, I confefs, Thefe are ambition's works : And thefe are great : But this, the leaft immortal fouls can do ; Tranfcend them all But what can thefe tranfcend ? Doft afk me what : Or,e figh for the dijireji. What then for infideh? A deeper figh. 'Tis moral g randtur makes the mighty man : How //'///^they, who think aught great blow ? AH our ambitions death defeats, but one ; And that it crowns. Here ceafe we : But, ere long, More pow'rful/rec/"mall take the field againft thee, Stronger than death, and fmilirg at the tomb. NIGHT NIGHT the SEVENTH. BEING THE SECOND PART O F T H E INFIDEL Reclaimed. VOL. in. I '7' ] NIGHT the SEVENTH. BEING THE SECOND PART O F T H E INFIDEL RECLAIMED. CONTAINING Hie NATURE, PROOF, and IM PORTANCE, of IMMORTALITY. PREFACE. A S ive are at -Mar with the poiver, it luere we/I if'we 'were at ivar ivitb the manners, of France. A land of levity, is a land of guilt. A ferious mind is the native foil of every 'virtue', and the Jingle character that Joes true honour to mankind. The foul's immortality has been the favourite theme with the ferious of all ages. Nor is it flrange ; it is a fubjeft by far the mift interesting, and im- portant, that can enter the mind of man. Of highiji mo- ment tbisfubjetl always was and aiivays will be. Tet this its bigheft moment feems to admit of increafe, at this day ; a firt cf occafional importance is fuperadded to the natural weight of it ; if that opinion nvhicb is ad-nanced in the pre- face t-j the preceding Night, lejuft. It is there fuppofed, that all our infidels, whatever fcheme, for argument's fake, and to kref tbsm/tlvtt in countenance, they patronize, a?e Ittrafd I ^ into 172 PREFACE. into their deplorable ertor, by feme doubts of their immor- tality, at the bottom. And the more I conjidsr this point, the more I am perfuaded of the truth of that opinion. The* the dijtruft of a futurity is a ftrange error; yet it is an error into which bad men may naturally be dijirej/ed. For it is impnjfible to bid defiance to final ruin, without fotnt refuge in imagination, fome preemption of ejcape. And what frefumption is there? Ther^ are but two in nature; but tvjo, within the compafs of human thought. And thefe are* T'/jat either GOD will not, or can nutpunijh. Confide) 'ng the divine attributes, the firil is too grojs to be di. efted by our Jlfongejl wijbts. And Jlnce omnipotence is as much a divine attribute as holinefs, that GOD cannot punijh, it as abfurd a fuppojition, as the former. GOD certainly cat punijh as long as wicked men exiji . In non-txijhnce, there- fore, is their cnly refuge ; and, confeqnently, non-exijlenci is their Jlrongeji wijh. And Jirong wijkes have aftraxgt influence on our opinions ; they bias the judgment in a man' tier, almoji, incredible. And fince on this member of their alternative, there are fome nall appearances in their favour, and none at all on the other, they catch at this reeef t they lay hold on this chimara, to fave tbemfelves from tkt faock and horror of an immediate ^Wabfolute defpair. On re'viewingmyfubjeft, by the light which this argument ', and others of like tendency, threw upon ;/, / was more in- clin'd than ever topurfue it, as it appeared to me tojlrike di- reftly at the main root of all our infidelity. In the following pages it is, accordingly, purfu'd at large; and fome arguments for immortality, new at leaft to me, are ventured on in them. 'There alfo the writer has made an attempt to Jet the graft abfurditits and horrors ^annihilation in a fuller and more ajftSing -view, than is (I think} to be met with elfewhere. * / grofs abfurdities and horrors o/~annihilation urg'd home en LORENZO, 202, &c. The foul's And inextinguijhable nature, fpealc. Each much depcfes ', hear them in their turn. Thy foul, how paffionately fond of fame / How anxious, that fond pailion to conceal I We blufti, detected in deiigns on praife, Tho' for beft deeds, and from the beft of men jf And why ? Becaufe immortal. Art divine Has made the body tutor to the foul ; Heav'n kindly gives our blood a moral flow ; Bids it afcend the glowing cheek, and there Upbraid that little heart's inglorious aim, Which ftoops to court a character from man ; While o'er us, in tremendous judgment fit Far more than man, with endlefs praife, and blame. Ambition's The INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 187 Ambition's boundhfi appetite out-fpeaks The verdict of 'usjhame. When fouls take fire At high preemptions of their own defert, One age is poor applaufe ; the mighty moat, The thunder by the living few begun, Late time muft echo; worlds unborn, refoundv We wifli our names eitmally to live : Wild dream, which ne'er had haunted human thought, Had not our natures been eternal too. Inflinft points out an int'reft in hereafter ; But our blind rea/en fees not where it lies ; Or, feeing, gives the fubftance for the fhade. Fame is the fhade of immortality, And in itfelf a lhadow. Soon as caught, Contemn'd ; it fhrinks to nothing in the grafp, Confult th' ambitious, 'tis ambition's cure. " And is This all ?" cry'd CAESAR at his height, Difgujled. This /?>, And i88 THE COMPLAINT. Night 7. And tho' fuccefs difgufts ; yet ftill, LORENZO! In vain we ftrive to pluck it from our hearts j By nature planted for the nobleft ends. AbAi^d the fam'd advice to PYRRHUS given, More prais'd, than ponder'd; fpecious, but unfound; Sooner that hero's fword the world had quell'd, Than rea/on, his ambition. Man mujt foar. An obilinate aftivity within, An infupprefiive fpring, will tofs him up In fpite of fortune's load. Not kings alone, Each villager has his ambition too ; No Sultan prouder than his fetter'd fiave : Slaves build their little Babylom of ilraw, Echo the pro-ud 4$yria, in their hearts, And cry, "Behold the wonders of my might I'* And why ? Becaufe immortal as their lord ; And fouls immortal muft for eyer heave At fomethjng great ; the glitter, or the gold ; The praife of mortals, or the praife of heaven. Nor abfolutely vain is human praife, When human is fupported by divine. I'll introduce LORENZO to Himfelf ; Pleafure and pride (bad matters !) mare our hearts. As love of phafure is ordain'd to guard And feed our bodies, and extend our race ; The love of praife is planted to proteft, And propagate the glories of the mind. What is it, but the l. nowjfr/? thy real friend. Since nature made us not more fond than proud Of happinefs (whence hypocrites in joy ! Makers of mirth ! artificers of fmiles !) Why fhould the joy moft poignant fenfe affords, Burn us with blames, and rebuke our pride? Thofe heav'n-born blufhes tell us man defcends, Ev'n in the zenith of his earthly blifs : Should reafon take her infidel repofe, This honeft inftinci fpeaks our lineage high ; This inftinft calls on darknefs to couceal Our rapturous relation to the flails. Our glory covers us with no'jle Jbame, And he that's unconfounded, is unmanned. The man that blufhes, is not quite a brute. Thus far with Thee, LORENZO! will I clofe, Pleafure is good, and man for pleafure made j But pleafure full of glory, as of joy ; Pleafure, which neither blujhes, nor expires. The witnefles are heard ; the caufe is o'er ; Let confdence file the fentcnce in her court, Dearer 192 THE COMPLAINT. Night 7. Dearer than deeds that half a realm convey : V it too. A riddle this ! Have patience; I'll explain. What noble vanities, \vhat moral flights, Glitt'ring thro' their romantic wifdom's page, Make us, at once, defpife them, and admire ? Fable is flat to thefe high feafon'd Sires; They leave th' extravagance of fong below. " Flefli fliall not feel; or, feeling, fhall enjoy " The dagger or the rack ; to rhem, alike " A bed of rofes, or the burning bull." In men exploding all beyond the grave, Strange dodrine, This ! As doSrine, it was ftrange ; But not, .zs prophecy ; for fuch it proV'd, And, to their own amazement, was fulfill'd : tfhey feign 'd a firmnefs Chriftians need not feign. The Chriftian truly triumph'd in the flame : The Stoic faw, in double wonder loft, Wonder at Them, and wonder at Himfelf, To find the bold adventures of his thought Not bold, and that he ftrove to lye in vain. Whence, then, thofe thoughts ? Thofe tow'ring thoughts, that flew Such monftrous heights ? From ii;JJini, and from/r/Vcr The glorious inftintt of a deathlefs foul, Confus'dly confcious cf her dignity, Suggefted truths they could not underftand. In /v/Ts dominion, aad in pajfllorfs ftorm, Truth's fyftem broken, fcattcr'd fragments Jay, As The I N F ijo E L RECLAIMED. 197 As light in chaos, glimm'ring thro' the gloom : Smit with the pomp of lofty fentiments, Pleas'd pride proclaim'd, what reafon difbeliev'd. Pride, like the Delphic prieftefs, with a fwell, Rav'd nonfenfe, deftin'd to be future fenfe, When life immortal, in full day, fhould iliine ; And death's dark Jhadniut fly the gofpel fun. They fpoke, what nothing but immortal fouls Could fpeak; and thus the truth they queltion'd, prov'd. Can then abfuraities, as well as crimes, Speak man immortal? All things fpeak him fo* Much has been urg'd ; and do-t thou call for more ? Call ; and with endlefs queftions be diftreft, All unrefolvable, if earth is All. " Why life, a moment ; infinite, defire ? " Our wifli, Eternity? Our home, the Grave? * l Heav'n's promife dormant lies in human hope ; " Who ivijbeslife immortal, frcair ? *' At ftated periods^ fure-returning, roll " Thefe glorious crls, that mortals may compute " Their length of labours, and of pains ; nor lofe ' Their miiery's full meafure ? Smiles with flowers, *' And fruits, promiscuous, ever- teeming earth* *' That man may languifh in luxurious fcenes, " And in an Eden mourn his wither'd joys ? ' Claim earth and ikies man's admiration, due " Forfucb delights ! Bleft animali ! too wife M To wonder ; and too happy to complain I " Our doom decried demands a mournful fcer.e: * Why not a dungeon dark, for the /roa bleft, or worthy^ to be ? Heav'n ftarts at an annihilating GOD. Is That, all nature ftarts at, thy defire ? Art fuch a clod to wifh thyfelf all clay ' What is that dreadful wifh ? The dying groan Of nature, murder'd by the blackeft guilt.. What deadly poifon has thy nature drank ? To nature undebaucht no mock fo great ; Nature's fir ft wim is endlefs In the Sixth Night. The INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 207 Annihilation is an after-thought, A monftrous wifh, unborn till virtue dies. And, oh ! what depth of horror lies inclos'dl For non-exiflence no man ever wifht, But, firft, he wiiht the DEITY deilroy'd. If fo ; what words are dark enough to drawr Thy pifture true ? The darkeft are too fair. Beneath what baleful planet, in what hour Of defperation, by what fury's aid, In what infernal pofture of the foul, All hell invited, and all hell in joy At fuch a birth, a birth fo near of kin, Did thy io\i\ fancy whelp fo black a fcheme Of hopes abortive, faculties half-blown,. And deities begua, reduc'd to duit ? There's nought (thou fay'lt) but one eternal flux Of feeble efTences, tumultuous driven Thro* time's rough billows into night's abyfs. Say, in this rapid tide of human ruin, Is there no rotk, on which man's tolling thought Can reft from terror, dare his fate furvey, And boldly think \\.fcmething to be born ? Amid fuch hourly wrecks of being fair, Is there no central, all-fuftaining bafe t A1J- realizing, all-connefting^nufr, Which, as it call'd forth all things, can recall* And force dejlrutlion to refund her fpoil ? Command the grave reftore her taken prey? Bid death's dark vale its human harveft yield, And earthy and etean, pay their debt of man, True 30$ THE COMPLAINT. Night 7. True to the grand depofit trufted there f Is there no potentate, whofe out-ftretcht arm, When rip'ning time calls forth th' appointed hour, Pluckt from foul de-vrtj?aricx's famifht maw, Binds prefent, fa/f, and future, to his throne ? His throne, how glorious, thus divinely grac'd, By germinating beings cluft'ring round ! A garland worthy the divinity ! A throne, by heav'n's omnipotence in /miles, Built (like a pharos tow'ring in the waves) Amidft immenfe effufions of his love I An ocean of communicated blifs ! An all-prolific, all-preferving Gon ! This were a GOD indeed. And fuch it man, As here prefum'd : He rifes from his fall. Think'it thou Omnipotence a naked root, Each bloflbm fair of DEITY deftroy'd? Nothing is dead ; nay, Nothing fleeps ; each fouli- That ever animated human clay, Now wakes ; is on the wing : And where, O where,- Will the fwarm fettle ? When the trumpet's call, As founding brafs, collects us, round heav'n's throne Conglob'd, we balk in everlafting day, (Paternal fplendor 1) and adhere for ever. I Had not the foul this outlet to the Ikies, In this vail veflel of the univerfe, How mould we gafp, as in an empty void!' How in the pangs of famifht hope expire ! How bright my profpeft fhines ! how gloomy, tbint ! A trembling world ! and a devouring god ! Eartb, The INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 209 Earth, but the Shambles of Omnipotence ! Jfeav'n's face all ftain'd with caufelefs maflacres Of countlcfs millions, born to feel the pang Of being loft. LORENZO! can it be? *This bids us fh.udder at the thoughts of life. Who would be born to fuch a phantom world, Where nought fubftantial but our mifery ? Where joy (if joy) but heightens our diftrefs, So foon to perifh, and revive no more ? The greater fuch a joy, the more it pains. A world, fo far from great (and yet how great" It fliines to thee !) there's nothing real in. it > Eeit'g, a fliadow ; confcioufnefs, a dream ? A dream, how dreadful ! Univerfal blank Before it, and behind ! Poor man, a fpark From non-exiftence flruck by wrath divine, Glitt'ring a moment, nor that moment fure, 'Midft upper, nether, and furrounding night r His fad, fure, fudden, and eternal tomb ! LORENZO ! doft thoufeel thefe arguments ? Or is there nought but vengeance can be felt ?- How haft thou dar'd theDEirv dethrone? How dar'd inditt Him of a world like this f If fuch the world, creation was a crime ; For what is crime, but caufe of mifery ?' Retrafl, blafphemer ! and unriddle this t Of endlefs arguments above, below, Without us, and 'within, the fhort refult " If marts immortal, ther?* a GOD in heaven" But 2io THE COMPLAINT. Night 7. But wherefore fuch redundancy ? fuch wafte Of argument ? One fets my foul at reft ! One obvious, and at hand, and, oh ! at heart. So juftthe ikies, PHILANDER'S life fo pain'd, His heart fo pure ; that, or fucceeding fcenes Have palms to give, or n'er bad he been born-, " What an old tale is this /" LORENZO cries. I grant this argument is old ; but truth No years impair ; and had not this been true-, Thou never haoft defpis'd it for its age. Truth is immortal as thy foul ; and fablt As fleeting as thy joys : Be wife, nor make HeavVs higheft bleffing, vengeance; O be wife! Nor make a carfe of immortality. Say, know'ft thou what // is, or what thcu art * Know'ft thott th* importance of a foul immortal ? Behold this midnight glory : Worlds on worlds ! Amazing pomp ! redouble this amaze ; Ten thoufandadd; add twice ten thoufand more; Then weigh the whole ; one foul outweighs them all; And calls th' aftonifhing magnificence Of unintelligent creation poor. For this, believe not me ; no man believe ; Truft not in words, but deeds ; and deeds no left Than thofeof the SUPREME ; nor His, a few; Confult them all; cohfulted, all proclaim. Thy foul's importance: Tremble at thyfelf; For whom Omnipotence has wak'd fo long : Has wak'd, and work'd, for ages ; from the birth Cf nature to this unbelieving hour. 7 * The INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 211 In this fmall province of His vaft domain (All nature bow, while I pronounce His Name!) What has GOD done, and not for this fole end, To refcue fouls from death ? The foul's high prict Is writ in all the conduct of the flues. The foul's high price is the Creation's Key, Unlocks its myfteries, and naked lays The genuine caufe of ev'ry deed divine : Tat, is the chain of ages > which maintain* Their obvious correfpondence, and unites Molt diitant periods in one bleft deiign : That, is the mighty hinge, on which have turnM All revolutions, whether we regard The natural, civil, or religious, world ; The former two but fervants to the third : To that their duty done, they both expire, Their tnafs new-caft, forgot their deeds renown* t[ i And angels afk, " Where ones they Jbone fo fair?'*. To lift us from this abjeft, to fublime ; This flux, to permanent; this dark, to day; This foul, to pure ; this tu. bid, to ferene ; This mean, to mighty ! for this glorious end Th* ALMIGHTY, rifmg, his long fabbath broke! The world was made ; was ruin'd ; was reftor'd ; Laws from the fides were publifli'd; were repeal'd; On earth kings, kingdoms, rofe; kiiigs, kingdoms, fell; Fanvd fages lighted up the pagan world ; Prophets from Sion darted a keen glance Thro' diftant age ; faints travell'd ; martyrs bled; By wonders facred nature Hood controul'd ; The 212 THE COMPLAINT. Kighr 7. The living were tranflated ; dead were rais'd ; Angels, and more than angels, came from heaven j And, oh ! for tkis, defcended lower Hill ; Guilt was hell's gloom j aftonilh'd at his gueft, For one fhort moment LUCIFER ador'd : LORENZO ! and wilt thou do lefs ? For this, That h allow* d page, fools feoff at, was infpir'd, Of all thefe truths thrice venerable code ! Deifls! perform your quarantine; and then Fall proftrate, ere you touch it, left you die. Nor lefs intenfely bent infernal powers To mar, than thofe of light, this end to gain. ' O what a fcene is here ! LORENZO ! wake ! Rife to the thought ; exert, expand thy foul To take the vaft idea : It denies All elfe the name of great. Two warring worlds 1 Not Europt again ft Afric ; warring worlds ! Of more than mortal ! mounted on the wing ! On ardent wings of energy, and zeal, High-hov'ring o'er this little brand of flrife ! This fublunary ball But ftrife, for what ? In their own caufe conflicting ? No ; in thine, In man's. His Jingle int'reft blows the flame ; His the fole ftake; his fate the trumpet founds, Which kindles war immortal. How it burns ! Tumultuous fwarms of deities in arms ! Force, force oppofmg, till the waves run high, And tempeft nature's univerfal fphere. Such oppofites eternal, ftcdfaft, ftern, Such. The INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 213 Such foes implacable, are good, and ill; Yet man, vain man, would mediate peace between them. Think not this fiction, " There was war in heaven." From heav'n's high cryftal mountain, where it hung, Th' ALMIGHTY'S out-ftretcht arm took down his bow : And (hot his indignation at the deep :] Re-thunder'd hell, and darted all her fires. And feems the flake of little moment ftill ? And {lumbers man, who iingly caus'd the ftorm ? He fleeps. And art thou fhockt at inyjteries ? The greateft, Thou. How dreadful to reflect, What ardor, care, and counfel, mortals caufe In breafts divine ! How little in their own ! Where-e'er I turn, how new/ros/} pour upon me \ How happily this wondrous view fupports My former argument ! Hovv ftronglyy/r//fo.f Immortal life's full demonstration, kere ! Why this exertion ? Why this ftrange regard From heav'n's Omnipotent indulg'd to man ? ' Becaufe, in man, the glorious dreadful power, Extremely to be pain'd, or bleft, for ever. Duration gives importance ; fwells the price.. An angel, if a creature of a day, What would he be ? A trifle of no weight ; Or Hand, or fall ; no matter which ; he's gone. Becaufe IMMORTAL, therefore is indulg'd This ftrange regard of deities to duft. Hence, heav'n looks down on earth with all her eyes : Hence, the foul's mighty moment in her fight : Hence, ev'ry foul has partifans above, And 214 THE COMPLAINT. Night 7. And ev'ry thought a critic in the fkies > Hence, clay, vile clay ! has angels for its guard, Aad ev'ry guard a paifion for his charge : Hence, from all age, the cabinet divine Has held high counfel o'er the fate of man. Nor have the clouds thofe gracious counfels hid, Angels undrew the curtain of the throne, And PROVIDENCE came forth to meet mankind: In various modes of emphafis and awe, He fpoke his will, and trembling rtaturt heard ; He fpoke it loud, in thunder and in llorm. Witnefs, thou Siuai ! whofe cloud-cover'd height, And fhaken bafis, own'd the prefent GOD : Witnefs, ye billows ! whofe returning tide, Breaking the chain that faften'd it in air, Swept Egypt, and her menaces, to hell : Witnefs, ye fames ! th' jf/jrian tyrant blew To fev'nfold rage, as impotent, as ftrong : And thou, earth ! witnefs, whofe expanding jaws Clos'd o'er * preemption's facrilegious fons : Has not each element, in turn, fubfcrib'd Theyo*/'* high price* and fwornit to the wife ? Has not flame, ocean, xther, earthquake, ftrove To ftrike this trmk, thro' adamantine maa ? If not all-adamant, LORENZO! hear; All is delation; nature is wrapt up, In tenfold *ight, from reafons keeneft eye; There's no confidence, meaning, plan, or end", in. all beneath the fun, in all above, (A. The INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 215 (As far as man can penetrate) or heaven Is an immenie, inelbmable prize ; Or all is Nothing, or that prize is all. And (hall each toy be ftill a match for heaven, And full equivalent for groans below ? Who woula not give a trifle to fre-venf What he would give a thoufand worlds to cure? LORENZO ! thou haft feen (if thine to fee) All nature, and her GOD (by nature's courfe, And nature's courfe controuVd) declare for me: The flcies above proclaim, " immortal man !" And, *' man immortal /" all below refounds. The world's a fyftem of theology, Read by the greateft Grangers to the fchools ; If boneft, learn'd; and /ages o'er a plough. Is not, LORENZO! then, impos'd on thee This hard alternative ; or, to renounce Thy reafon, or thy/eafe; or, to belie-ve? What then is unbelief? 'Tis an exploit ; A ftrenuous enterprize : To gain it, man Muft burft through ev'ry bar of common fenfe, Of common (hame, magnanimoufly wrong j And what rewards the fturdy combatant ? His prize, repentance ; infamy, his crown. But wherefore, infamy? For want offaitb t Down the fteep precipice of ivrong he flides j There's nothing to fupport him in the right* Faith in the future wanting, is, at leaft In embryo, ev'ry weaknefs, ev'ry guilt ; And ilrong temptation ripens it to birth, 7 216 THE COMPLAINT. Night 7 If tkis life's gain invites him to the deed, "Why not his country fold, his father flain ? "Tis virtue to purfue our good fupreme j And his fupreme, his only good is here. Ambition, a-Jrice, by the wife difdain'd, Is perfedl wi/dom, while mankind are fools, And think a turf, or tomb-ftone, covers all : Thefe find employment, and provide forjenfe A richer pafture, and a larger range ; And fenfe by right divine afcends the throne, When virtue's prize and profpccl are no more ; Virtue no more we think the will of heaven. Would heav'n quite beggzr virtue, if -belov'd? " Has 'virtue charms ?" I grant her heav'nly fair; But if unportion'd, all will in? reft wed ; Tho' that our admiration, ibis our choice.. The virtues grow on immortality ; That root deflroy'd, they wither and expire. A DEITY believ'd, will nought avail; Rewards and punijbments make GOD ador'd ; And hopes and fears give confiience all her power. As in the dying parent dies the child, Virtue ', with immortality, expires. Who tells me he denies his foul immortal, Whate'er his boaft, has told me, He's a knave. His duly 'tis, to love himfelf alone ; Nor care tho' mankind perifli, if he fmilcs. Who thinks ere long the man mall wholly die, Is dead already ; nought but brute furvives. i' An* The I N F i B E L RECLAIMED. 217 And are there fiich ? Such candidates there are Tor more than death ; for utter lofs of being, Being, the bafis of tlie DEITY ! Afk >ou the caufe? The caufe they will not tell: Nor need they : Oh the forceries of Jenfe ! bey work this transformation on the foul, Difmount her, like the ferpent at the fall, Difrnount her from her native wing (which foar'd Ere-while ethereal heights), and throw her down, To lick the duft, and crawl in fiich a thought. Is it in words to paint you ? O ye fall'n ! Fall'n from the wings of reafon, and of hope ! Ercdl in ftature, prone in appetite ! Patrons of pleafure, polling into pain i Lovers of argument, averfe to fenfe ! Boafters of liberty, faft bound in chains ! Lords of the wide creation, and the fhame \ More fenfelefs than th' irrationals you fcorn ! More lafe than thofe you rule ! Than thofe you pity, Far more undone ! O ye mod infamous Of beings, from fuperior dignity! Deepeft in woe from means of boundfefs blife ! Ye curfl. by bleffings infinite ! Becaufe Moft highly favour'd, mod profoundly loft ! Ye motly mafs of contradiftion ftrong ! And are you, too, convinc'd, your fouls fly off Jn exhalation foft, and die in air, From the lull flood of evidence againft you ? .In the coarfe drudgeries, and finks of fenfe, Your fuuls have quite worn out the .make of heaven, By aiS THE Co M PL "A INT. Night;, By vice new-cA, and creatures of your own : But tho' you can deform, you can't deftroy ; To curfe, not uncreate, is all your power. LORENZO ! this black brotherhood renounce ; Renounce St. Evremont, and read St. Paul. Ere rapt by miracle, by reafon wing'd, His mounting mind made long abode in, heaven. ykis isfreetbinking, unconfin'd to parts, To fend the foul, on curious travel bent, Thro' all the provinces of human thought ; To dart her flight, thro' the whole fphcre of man ; Of this vaft univerfe to make the tour ; In each recefs ofjpace, and time, at home ; Familiar with their wonders ; diving deep ; And, like a prince of boundlefs int'refts there, Still moil ambitious of die mofl remote ; To look on truth unbroken, and intire ; Truth in fotfyftem, the full orb ; where truths By truths enlighten'd, and fuftain'd, afford An arch-like, ftrong foundation, to fupport Th' incumbent weight ofabfolute, complete Conviction ; here, the more we prefs, we ftand More firm; who moft examine, moil believe. Parts, like half-fentences, confound ; the whole Conveys the fenfe, and GOD is underftood ; Who not in fragments writes to human race : Read his nvhole volume, fceptic ! then reply. nil, this, is thinking free, a thought that grafps Beyond a grain, and looks beyond an hour. Tura up thine eye, furvey this midnight fcene ; What The INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 217 What are earth's kingdoms, to yon boundlefs orbs, Of human fouls, one day, the deflin'd range ? And what yon boundlefs orbs, to godlike man? Thofe num'rous worlds that throng the firmament, And aik more fpace in heav'n, can roll at large In man's capacious thought, and ftill leave room For ampler orbs, for tie*w creations, there. Can/ucb a foul contract itfelf, to gripe A point of no dimenfion, of n weight? It can ; it does : The icerA/is fuch a point: And, of that point, ho\vyiwa//a part enflaves! How fmall a part of nothing, fhall I fay? Why net? Friends, our^/^treafure! how they drop! LUCIA, NARCISSA fair, PHILANDER, gone 1 The grave, like fabled Cerberus, has op'd A triple mouth ; and, in an aweful voice, Loud calls my foul, and utters all I fing. How the world falls to pieces round about us, And leaves us in a ruin of our joy ! What fays this traxfportation of my friends? It bids me love the place where now they dwell, And fcorn this wretched fpot, they leave fo poor. Eternity's vaft ccean lies before thee ; There; there, LORENZO! thy CLARISSA fails. Give thy mind fea-room ; keep it wide of earth, That rock of fouls immortal; cut thy cord ; \ Weigh anchor ; fpread thy fails, ; call ev'ry wind j Eye thy Great Pole-Jlar ; make the land of life. Two kinds of life has doubk-natur* d man, And two of death ; the loft far more fevcre. VOL. III. L Life 220 THE COMPLAINT. Night 7. Is there hypocrify fo foul as this ? So fatal to the welfare of the world ? What delegation, what contempt, their due ! And, if unpaid, be than k'd for their efcape That Chriftian candor they Jtrive hard to fcorn. If not for that afylum, they might find A helLon earth ; nor 'fcape a worfe below. With infolence, and impotence of thought, Inftead of racking fancy, to refute, Reform thy manners, and the truth enjoy. But mail I dare confefs th.e dire refult? Can thy proud reafon brook fo black a brand ? From purer manners, to fublimcr faith, Is nature's unavoidable afcent; An honeft deift, where the gofpel mines, Matur'd to nobler, in the Chrijlian ends. When that bleft change arrives, e'en call afide This fong fuperfluous ; life immortal ftrikes Conviction, in a flood of light divine. A Cbriftian dwells, like * URIEL, in the fun; Meridian evidence puts doubt to flight j And ardent hope anticipates the fkies. Of that bright fun, LORENZO ! fcale the fphere; 'Tis eafy ! it invites thee ; it defcends From heav'n to wooe, and waft thee whence it came : Read and revere l\& facred page ; a page Where triumphs immortality ; a page Which not the whole creation could produce; Which not the conflagration mail deftroy ; Mitre*, 'Tit The INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 221 'Tis printed in the mind of gods forever, In nature's ruins not one letter loft. In proud difdain of what e'en gods adore, Doft fmile ? Poor wretch ! thy guardian angel weepi. slngtls, and men, aflent to what I fing ; Wits fmile, and thank me for my midnight dream. How vicious hearts fume phrenzy to the brain ! Parts pu(h us on to pride, and pride to fhame ; Pert infidelity is ivit's cockade, To grace the brazen brow that braves the fkies, By lojs of being, dreadfully fecure. LORENZO 1 if thy dodrine wins the day, And drives my dreams, defeated, from the field ; If This is All, if earth a. foal (cent, Take heed ; ftand fait ; be fare to be a knave ; A knave in grain ! ne'er deviate to the right : Should'll thou be good How infinite thy lofs ! Guilt only make's annihilation gain. Bled fchemc ! which life deprives of ccmfart, death Of hope; and which VICE tnly recommends. If fo ; where, infidels ! your bait thrown out To catch weak converts ? Whert your lofty boaft Of zeal for virtue, and of love to man ? ANNIHILATION! I confefs, in tbefe. What can reclaim you ? Dare I hope profound Philofophers the converts of zfing? Yet know, its f title flatters you, not me ; Yours be the praife to make my title good ; Mine, to blefs heav'n, and triumph in jour praife. f The lofideUeelaimed. L 3 But 122 THE COMPLAINT. Night 7. But fince fo peftilential your difeafe, Tho' fovereign is the med'cine I prefcribe, As yet, I'll neither triumph, nor defpair : But hope, ere long, my midnight dream will wake Your hearts, and teach your ivifdom to be wife : For why fhould fouls immortal, made for blifs, E'er wifh (and wim in vain !) that fouls could die ? What ne'er can die, Oh ! grant to live ; and crowa The wifh, and aim, and labour of the fkies ; Increafe, and enter on the joys of heaven : Thus fhall my title pafs a/acrettkal, Receive an imprimatur from Above, While angels fhout An Infidel Reclaim 1 d! To clofe, LORENZO ! fpite of all my pains, Stit/feems it ftrange, that thou fhould'ft live for ever ? Is it left ftrange, that thou fhould'ft live at all? *Tkis is a miracle ; and 'That no more. Who gave beginning, can exclude an end. Deny thou art : Then, doubt if thouyfta// be. A miracle with miracles inclos'd, Is man : And ftarts his faith at what isftrangi? Whatlefs than wonders, from the wonderful ; What lefs than miracles, from GOD, can flow ? Admit a GOD that myftery fupreme ! That Caufe uncaus'd ! all other wonders ceafc ; Nothing is marvellous for Him to do : Deny Him all is myftery befides ; Millions of myfteries ! Each darker far, Than tbat thy wifdom would, unwifely, fhun. If weak thy faith, why chufe the harder fide ? We The INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 223 We nothing tno-iv, but what is marvellous ; Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe. So weak our rea/cn, and fo great our GOD, What moll furprifes in the facred page, Or full as ftrange, or ftranger, wuft be true. Faith is not reafon's labour, but repofe. To faith, and --virtue, why fo backward, man ? From hence : The prefeat ftrongly ftrikes us all ? The future, faintly : Can we, then, be men ? If men, LORENZO ! the re-ver/e is right. fieafcn is man's peculiar : Senfe, the brute's. The prefent is the fcanty realm of/enfe-, The future, reafctft empire unconfin'd : On that expending all her godlike power, She plans, provides, expatiates, triumphs, thert ', There, builds her ilejjlngs ! There, expedb her praift ; And nothing aiks of fortune, or of men. And what is reafon ? Be fhe, thus, defin'd ; Reafon is upright Jiature in the feu/. Oh ! be a man ; and ftrive to be zgod. " For what I (thou fay'ft) To damp the joys of life ?" No ; to give heart and fubftance to thy joys. That tyrant, hope ; mark how he domineers ; She bids us quit realities, for dreams; Safety, and peace, for hazard, and alarm ; That tyrant o'er the tyrants of the foul, She bids ambition quit its taken prize, Spurn the luxuriant branch on which it fits, Tho' bearing crowns, to fpring at dijiant game ; And plunge in toils and dangers for repofe. L 4 If 224 THE COMPLAINT. Night 7. If hope precarious, and of things, when gain'd, Of little moment, and as little itay, Can fweeten toils, and dangers into joys ; What then, that hope, which nothing can defeat, Our leave unafk'd ? Rich hope of boundlcfs blifs ! Blifs, paft man's pow'r to paint it ; time's to clofe ! This hope is earth's molt eftimable prize : This is man's portion, while no more than man : Hope, of all paffions, moft befriends us here } Paflions of prouder name befriend us lefs. Joy has her tears ; and tranfport has her death ; Hope, like a cordial, innocent, tho' firong, Man's heart, at once, jn/pirits, and feretei ; Nor makes him pay his wifdom for his joys ; 'Tis All, our prefent Hate czn/afely bear, Health to the frame! and vigour to the mind! A joy attemper'd ! a cbaftifd delight ! Like the fair fummer ev'ning, mild, and fweet I 'Tis man's full cap ; his paradife below ! A bleft hereafter, then, or hop'd, or gain'd, Is All ; our whole of happinefs : Full proof, I chofe no trivial or inglorious tbetnt. And know, ye foes to fong ! (well-meaning men, Tho' quite forgotten f half your Bible's praife!) Important truths, in fpite ofver/t, may pleafe : Grave minds you praife'; nor can you praife too much: If there is weight in an ETERNITY, Let the grave Men ; and be graver ftill. f The poetical parti of it. NIGHT NIGHT the EIGHTH. VIRTUE'S APOLOGY j O R, The MAN of the WORLD Anfwered N I G H T the E.I G H T H. VIRTUE'S APOLOGY; OR, The M A N of the WORLD Anfwered. In which are Confidercd, The LOVE of This LIFE; The AMBITION and PLEASURE, with the WIT and WISDOM of the WORLD. AN D has all nature, then, efpous'd my part ? Have I brib'd heav'n, and earth, to plead againR And is thy foul immortal? What remains ? [tce All, All, LORENZO ! Make immortal, bleft. Unblert immortals ! What can mock us more ? And yet LORENZO ftill affe&s the world \ There, flows his treafure; Thence, his title draws, Man of the world (for fuch wouldft thou be call'd) And art thou proud of that inglorious ftyle? Proud of reproach ? For a reproach it wat, L 6 In 258 .THE COMPLAINT. Night 8. In antient days ; and CHRISTIAN, in an age, When men were men, and not afham'd of heaven, Fir'd their ambition, as it crown'd their joy. Sprinkled with dews from the Caftalian font, : Fain would I re-baptize thee, and confer A purer fpirit, and a nobler name. Thy fond attachments fatal, and inflam'd, Point out my path, and di&ate to my fong : To Thee, the world hoiufair ! How ftrongly ftrikes Ambition ! and gay pkafurt ftronger ftill ! Thy triple bane ! the triple bolt that lays Thy virtue dead ! Be theft my triple theme ; Nor {hall thy ivit, or nvifdom, be forgot. Common the theme ; not fo the fong ; if She My fong invokes, URANIA, deigns to fmile. The charm that chains us to the world, her foe, If fhe diflblvcs, the man of earth, at once, Starts from his trance, and fighs for other fcenes ; Scenes, where thefe fparks of night, thekflars fhall mine TJnnumber'd fans (for all things, as they are, The blell beheld) ; and, in one glory, pour Their blended blaze on man's aftonifht fight ; A blaze the leaft illuftrious objefl thtre. LORENZO! fince eternal is at hand, To fwallow time's ambitions ; as the vaft leviathan, the bubbles vain, that ride High on the foaming billow ; what avail High titles, high defcent, attainments high, If unattain'd our higheft? O LORENZO ! What lofty thoughts, thefe elements above, What VIRTUE 's APOLOGY, &e. 2 What tow'ring hopes, what Tallies from the fun, What grand furveys of deftiny divine, And pompous prefage of unfathom'd fate, Should roH in bofoms, where a fpirit burns, Bound for eternity ! In bofonas read By Him, who foibles in archangels fees ! On human hearts He bends a jealous eye, And marks, and in heav'n's regifter inrolls, The rife, and progrefs, of each option there j Sacred to doomfday ! That the page unfolds, Andipreads us to the gaze of gods and men. And what an option, O LORENZO ! thine f This world ! and This, unrivall'd by the flues ! A world, where luft ofplea/ure, grandeur, gold, Three damans that divide its realms between thenv With ftrokes alternate buffet to and fro Man's rcftlefs heart, their fport, their flying ball ; Till, with the giddy circle fick, and tir'd, It pants for peace, and drops into defpair. Such is the world LORENZO fets above That glorious promife angels were efteem'd Too mean to bring ; a promife, their Ador'd Defcended to communicate, and prefs, By counfel, miracle, life, death, on man. Such is the world LORENZO'S wifdom wooes, And on its thorny pillow feeks repofe ; A pillow, which, like opiates ill-prepar'd, Intoxicates, but not compofes ; fills The vifionary mind with gay chimzraa. 230 THE COMPLAINT. Night 8. All the wild tra(h of deep, without the reft ; What unfeigned travel, and what dreams of joy ! How frail, men, things ! How momentary, Both ! Fantaftic chace of fliadows hunting fhades ! The^y, the bufy, equal, tho' unlike; Equal in wifdom, differently wife ! Thro' flow'ry meadows, and thro' dreary waftes, One buttling, and one dancing, into death. There's not a day, but, to the man of thought, Betrays fome fecret, that throws new reproach On life, and makes him fick of feeing more. The fcenes of bus'ntfs tell us " What are men j" The fcenes off/eafure" What is all befide ;" There, Others we defpife ; and Here, ourfelves. Amid difguft eternal, dwells delight ? 'Tis approbation ftrikes the ftring of joy. What wondrous prize has kindled this career, Stuns with the din, and choaks us with the dull, On life's gay ftage, one inch above the grave ? The proud run up and down in queft of eyes ; The/enfual, in purfuit of fomething worfe ; The grave, of gold ; the pclitic, of power ; And All, of other butterflies, as vain ! As eddies draw things frivolous, and light, How is man's heart by vanity drawn in ; On the fwift circle of returning toys, Whirl'd, ftraw-like,round ami round, and then ingulph'd* Where gay delufion darkens to defpair ! " This is a beaten track." Is this a track Should not be beaten ? Never beat enough, Till VIRTUE'S APOLOGY, &c. 231 Till enough learnt the truths it would infpire. Shall Truth be filent, becaufe Folly frowns ? Turn the world's hiftory ; what find we there, But fortune's fports, or nature's cruel claims, Or woman's artifice, or man's revenge, And endlefs inhumanities on man ? Fame's trumpet feldom founds, but, like the knell, It brings bad tidings : How it hourly blows Man's mifadventures round the lift'ning world ! Man is the tale of narrative old time j Sad tale j which high as Paradife begins ; As if, the toil of travel to delude, From ftage to ftage, in his eternal round, The days, his daughters, as they fpin our hours On fortune's wheel, where accident unthought Oft, in a moment, fnaps life's flrongeft thread, Each, in her turn, fome tragic ftory tells, With, now-and-then, a wi etched farce between ; And fills his chronicle with human woes. Time's daughters, true as thofe of men, deceive us ; Not one, but puts fome cheat on all mankind : While in their/izA^r's bofom, not yet curs, They flatter our fond hopes ; and promife much Of amiable ; but hold him not o'erwife, Who dares to truft them ; and laugh round the year At ftill-confiding, ftill-confounded, man, Confiding, tho' confounded; hoping on, Untaught by trial, unconvinc'd by proof, And ever-looking for the never-feen. Life to the laft, Jike harden'd felons, lyes ; Nor 232 THE COMPLAINT. Night S. Nor owns itfelf a cheat, till it expires. Its little joys go out by One and One, And leave poor man, at length, in perfeft night ; Night darker, than what, no what provoking indigence in wealth ! What aggravated impotence in power! High titles, then, what infult of their pain ! If that fole anchor, equal to the waves, Immortal hops ! defies not the rude ftorm, Takes comfort from the foaming billow's rage, And makes a welcome harbour of the tomb. Is This ajketch of what thy foul admires ? " But here (thou fay'ft) the miferies of life " Are huddled in a group. A more diftinft " Survey, perhaps, might bring thee better news.'* Look on life's ftages : They fpeak plainer ftill ; The plainer they, the deeper wilt thou figh. Look on thy lovely boy ; in him behold The belt that can befal the beft on earth ; The boy has virtue by his mother's fide : Yes, on FLORELLO look : A father's heart Is tender, tho' the man's, is made of ftone j The truth, thro' fuch a medium feen, may make Impreffion deep, and fondnefs prove thy friend. FLORELLO lately cart on this rude coaft A helplefs infant ; now a heedlefs child ; To poor CLARISSA'S throes, thy care fucceeds ; Care full of love, and yet fevere as hate 1 O'e* 236 THE COMPLAINT. Night 8. O'er thy foul's joy how oft thy fondnefs frowns ! Needful aufterities his will reftrain ; As thorns fence in the tender plant from harm. As yet, his reafon cannot go alone ; But afks a tferner nurfe to lead it en,. His little heart is often terrify'd ; The blulh of morning, in his check, turns pale; Iti pearly dew-drop trembles in his eye ; His harmlefs eye ! and drowns an angel there. Ah ! what avails his innocence ? The tafk Injoin'd muft difcipline his early powers ; He learns to figh, ere he is known to fin ; Guiltlefs, and fad ! A wretch before the fall I How crue) this ! More cruel to forbear. Our nature fuch, with necejjary pains, We purchafe profpedls of precarious peace r Tho' not * father, This might fteal a figh. Suppofe him difciplin'd aright (if not, 'Twill fink our poor account to poorer ftill) ; Ripe from the tutor, proud of liberty, He leaps inclcfure, bounds into the world ! The world is taken, after ten years toil, Like antient Troy ; and all its joys his own. Alas ! the world's a tutor more fevere ; Its leflbns hard, and ill deferve his pains ; Unteaching All his virtuous nature taught, Or books (fair virtue's advocates !) infpir'd. For who receives him into public life ? Men of the world, the terra>filial breed, Welcome the modeft flranger to their fphere, VIRTUE'S APOLOGY, &c. 137 (Which glitter'd long, at diftance, in hii fight) And, in their kofpitable arms, inclofe : Men, who think nought fo ftrong of the romance, So rank knight-errant, as a real friend : Men, that aft up to rea/bn's golden rule, All weaknefs of affe&lcn quite fubdu'd : Men, that would blufh at being tbomgbt fincere, And feign, for glory, thcfe-iv faults they want ; That love a lye, where truth would pay as well ; As if, to Them, vice fhone her own reward. LORINZO ! canft thou bear a ftiocking fight? Such, for FLORELLO'S fake, 'twill now appear : See, the fteel'd files of feafon'd veterans, Train'd to the world, in burnimt falfhood bright; Deep in the fatal flratagems of peace ; All foft fcnfation, in the throng, rubb'd off; All their keen purpofe, in politenefs, fheath'd; Hii friends eternal during intereft ; His foes implacable when worth their while ; At war with ev'ry welfare, but their own ; As wife as LUCIFER ; and half as good; And by whom none, but LUCIFER, can gain- Naked, thro' Thefe (fo common fate ordains), Naked of heart, his cruel courfe he runs, Stung out of All, moil amiable in life, Prompt truth, and open thought, and fmiles unfeign'd; AlFeftion, as his fpecies, wide diffus'd ; Noble prefumptions to mankind's renown j Ingenuous truft, and confidence of love. Thefe claims to joy (if mortals joy might claim) Will 238 THE COMPLAINT. Night 8. Will colt him many a figh ; till time, and pains, From the flow miilrefs of this fchool, Experience, And her affiftant, paufing, pale, Diftru/t, Purchafe a dear-bought clue to lead his youth Thro' ferpentine obliquities of life, And the dark labyrinth of human hearts. And happy ! if the clue fliall come fo cheap ; For, while we learn to fence with public guilt, Full oft we feel its foul contagion too, If lefs than heav'nly virtue is our guard. Thus, a flrange kind of curd neceflity Brings down the fterling temper of hii foul, By bafe alloy, to bear the current ftamp, Below call'd wifdom ; finks him into fafety ; And brands him into credit with the world ; Where fpecious titles dignify difgrace, And nature's injuries are arts of life; Where brighter reafon prompts to bolder crimes ; And heav'nly talents make infemal hearts ; That unfurmountable extreme of guilt ! Poor MACHIAVEL ! who labour'd hard his plan, Forgot, that genius need not go to fchool ; Forgot, that man, without a tutor wife, His plan had praftis'd, long before 'twas writ. The world's all title-page ; there's no contents ; The world's z\\face\ the man who fhews his beart t It whooted for his nudities, and fcorn'd. A man I knew, who liv'd upon a fmile ; And well it fed him ; he look'd plump and fair; While rankeft venom foam'd thro' every vein. LORENZO! VIRTUE'S APOLOGY, &c. 239 LORENZO ! what I tell thee, tako not ill ! Living, he fawn'd on ev'ry fool alive ; And, dying, curs'd \ht-friend on whom he liv'd. To fuch proficients thou art half a faint. In foreign realms (for thou haft travell'd far) How curious to contemplate two ftate-rooks, Studious their nefts to feather in a trice, With all the necramantics of their art, Playing the game of faces on each other, Making court fweet-meats of their latent gall, In foolifh hope, to fteal each other's truft ; Both cheating, both exulting, both deceiv'd ; And, fometimes, both (let earth rejoice) undone ! Their parts we doubt not; but be That their fhame J Shall men of talents, fit to rule mankind, Stoop to mean wiles, that would difgrace a fool ; And lofe the thanks of thofe few friends they ferve ? For who can thank the man, he cannot^*.? Why fo much cover ? It defeats itfelf. Ye, that know all things ! know ye not, mens hearts Are therefore known, becaufe they are conceal'd ? For why conceal'd? The caufe they need not tell. I give him joy, that's aukward at a lye ; Whofe feeble nature truth keeps ilill in awe; His incapacity is his renown. 'Tis great, 'tis manly, to difdain difguife\ It mews our fpirit, or it proves our ftrength. Thou fay'ft, 'Tis needful : Is it therefore right ? Howe'er, I grant it fome fmall fign of grace, To ftrain at an excufe : And wouldft thou then 7 Efcapc 240 THE COMPLAINT. Night 8, Efcape that cruel need? Thou may'fl, with eafe ; Think no poll needful that demands a knave. When late our civil helm was fhifting hands, So P thought : Think better, if you can. But this, how rare ! the public path of life Is dirty : Yet-, allow that dirt its due, It makes the noble mind more noble ftill : The world's no neuter ; it will wound, or lave ; Or virtue quench, or indignation fire. Tou fay, The world, well-known, will make a man : The world, well-known, will give our hearts to heaven, Or make us daemons, long before we die. To (hew how fair the world, thy miilrefs, mines, Take either part, fure ills attend the choice; Sure, tho' not equal, detriment enfues. Not wrfa*'s-f:lf is deify 'd on earth ; Virtue has her relapfes, confli&s, foes ; Foes, that ne'er fail to make her feel their hate. Virtue has her peculiar fet of pains. True friends to virtue, loft, and lea/?, complain ; But if they figh, can others hope to fmile ? Ifwi/dom has her miferies to mourn, How can poor/o//)' lead a happy life ? And if both fuffer, what has earth to boaft, Where he mofl happy, who the leaft laments ? Where much, much patience, the moll envy'd Hate, And fame forgivenefs, needs, the bed of friends ? For friend, or happy life, who looks not higher, Of neither mall he find the fhadow here. The world's fworn advocate, without a fee LOREKKO VIRTUE 's APOLOGY, &c. 241 LORENZO fmartly, with a ftnile, replies ; " Thus far thy fong is right ; and All muft own, " Virtue has her peculiar jet of pains. " And joys peculiar who to vice denies ? " If vice it is, with nature to comply : " If pride, &r\d/en/e, are fo predominant, *' To cheeky not cvercome, them, makes a faint, " Can nature in a plainer voice proclaim " Ptea/ure, and glory t the chief good of man ?'* Can/r/'/ 7/s fubtleferpents creep Which wriggle into wealth, or climb renown. As crooked Sa.'em the forbidden tree. They VIRTUE'S APOLOGY, &c. 243 They leave their party-colour'd robe behind, All that now glitters, while they rear aloft Their brazen creiis, and hifs at us below. Of fortune's fucus ftrip them, yet alive; Strip them of body, too ; nay, clofer ftill, Away with all, but moral, in their minds; And let, what then remains, impoie their name, Pronounce them Weak, or Worthy ; Great, or Mean. How mean that fnuff of glory fortune lights, And deaib puts out ! Doit thou demand ateft, A teft, at once, infallible, and mort, Cf real Greatnefs ? That man Greatly lives, Whate'er his fate, or fame, who Greatly dies ; High-flufh'd with hope, where heroes mall defpair. Ktfois a trueciiterion, many courts, mutinous, might afford but few grandees. Th' Almighty, from his throne, on earth furveys Nought Greater, than an honeft, Humble Heart ; An Humble Heart, His refidence ! pronounc'd His fccond feat; and rival to the flues. The private path, the fecret adls of men, If noble, far the nobleft of our lives 1 How far above LORENZO'S glory fits Th' illultrious mafter of a name unknown; Whofe worth unrivall'd, and unwitneVd, lores Life's facred (hades, where gods converfe with men ; And peace, beyor.d the world's conceptions, fmiles ! As thou (now dark), before we part, malt fee. But thy Great Soul ikujiulking glory fcorns. LORENZO'S fick, but when LORENZO'S feen; M 2 And, 24-4 THE COMPLAINT. Night 8. And, when he fhrugs at public bus'nefs, lyes. Deny'd the public eye, the public voice, As if he liv'd on others' breath, he dies. Fain would he make the world his pedeftal ; Mankind the gazers, the fole figure, He. Knows he, that mankind praife aginft their will. And mix as much detra&ion as they can ? Knows he, that fahhlefsfame her whifper has, As well as trumpet ? That his vanity Is fo much tickled from not hearing All? .Knows this all knower, that from itch of praife, Or, from an itch more fordid, when he fhines, Taking his country by five hundred ears, Senates at once admire him, and defpife, With modeft laughter lining loud applaufe, Which makes the fmile more mortal to his fame ? His fame, which (like the mighty C^F.SAR), crown'd With laurels, in full fenate, greatly falls, By feeming friends, that honour, and deilroy. We rife in glory, as we fink in pride : Where boafting ends, there dignity begins : And yet, miftaken beyond all miil.ike, The blind LORENZO'S proud of being proud ; And dreams himfelf afcending in his fall. An eminence, tho' fancy'd, turns the brain : All vice wants hellebore ; but of all vice, Pride loudeft calls, and for the largeft bowl ; Becaufe, unlike all other vice, it flies, In fatfy the point, infancy molt purfu'd. Who court applaufe, oblige the world in this ; They VIRTUE'S APOLOGY, &c. 245 They gratify man's paffion to refuft. Superior honour, when affuai'dt is lujl ; Ev'n good men turn banditti, and rejoice, Like Kou LI-KAN, in plunder of the proud... Tho' fomewhat difcorcerted, fteady Hill To the world's caufe, with half a face of joy, LORENZO cries " Be, then, ambition caft ; '* Ambition's dearer far ftands unimpeach'd, " Gay pleafjire ! proud ambition is her flave ; " For Her, he foars at great, and hazards /// ; " For Her, he fights, and bleeds, or overcomes ; " And paves his way, with crowns, to reach Her fmile : " Who can refift her charms ?" Qr,JhoulJ? LORENZO 1 What mortal fhall refift, where angels yield ? Pt'eafure's themiftrefs of ethereal powers; For her contend the rival gods above ; Pleafure's the miftrefs of the world below ; And well it was for man, that pleafure charms ; How would All ftagnate, but for pleafure^ ray ! How would the frozen ftream of aclion ceafe ! What is the pulfeof this fo bufy world ? The love of pleafure : That, thro' ev'ry vein, Throws motion, warmth ; and ftiuts out death from life. Tho' various are the tempers of mankind, Pleafuris gay family hold All in chains : Some moil afFecl the black ; and fome, the fair; Some hor.efi.plea/ure court ; and fome, obfcene. Pleafures obfcene are various, as the throng Ofpaffions, that can err in human hearts; Miflake their obje&s, or tranfgrefs their bounds. M 3 Think 246 THE COMPLAINT. Nj'ght 8. Think you there's bat one whoredom ? Whoredom, All* But when our reafon licenfes delight. Dolt doubt, LORENZO? Thou malt doubt no more. Thy father chides thy gallantries ; yet hugs An ugly, common harlot, in the dark ; A rank adulterer with others gold ! And that hag, vengeance, in a corner, charms. Hatred her brothel has, as well as Iwe, Where horrid epicures debauch in blood. Whate'er the motive, pleafure is the mark : For Her, the black affaffin draws his fword ; For Her, dark ftatefmen trim their iidnight lamp, To which nojtngle facrifice may fall ; For Her, the faint abftains ; the mifer ftarves j- The Stcic proud, for pleafure , pleafure fcorn'd ; For Her, ajfliclian's daughters grief" indulge, And find, or hope, a luxury in tears ; For Her, guilt, (hame, toil, danger, we defy ; And, with an aim voluptuous, rum on death. Thus univerfal her defpotic power 1 And 25 her empire wide, her praife is juft. Patron of pleafure! doater on delight ! i s.m thy rival ; pleafure I prcfefs ; Pleafure the purpofe of my gloomy fong. Pleafure is nought but virtue's gayer name ; 1 wrong her ftill, I rate her worth too low ; Virtue the root, and pleafure is the flower; And honeft EPICURUS' foes were fools. But this founds harm, and gives the wife offence ; If o'erftrain'd wifdom ftill retains the name. How VIRTU E'S APOLOGY, &c. 247 How knits aufterity her cloudy brow, And blames, as bold, and hazardous, the praife Of pleafure, to mankind, unpraiid, too dear ! Ye modern Stoics I hear my foft reply j Their fcnfes men will truft : We can't impofe ; Or, if we could, is impofition right? Own honey faeet ; but, owning, add thisy?/tfg-; *' When mixt with poifon, it is deadly too." Truth never was indebted to a lye. Is nought but virtue to be prais'd, as good ? Why then is health preferr'd before difeafe ? What nature loves is good, without our leave. And where no future drawback cries, " Be-iuare^ Pleafure, tho' not from virtue, jhould prevail. 'Tis balm to life, and gratitude to heaven ; How cold our thanks for bounties unenjoy'd t The love cf pleafure is man's eldeft-born* Born in his cradle, living to his tomb ; Wifdom, her younger fifler, tho' move grave* Was meant to minijier, and not to mar, Imperial pleafitre, queen of human hearts. LORENZO 1 Thou, her majefty's renown'd, Tho' uncoift, counfel, learned in the 'world! Who think'ft thyfelf a MURRAY, withdifdai* May'il look on me. Yet, my DEMOSTHENES-! Canft thou plead pleafure^ caufe as well as 1 ? Know'ft thou her nature, purpofe, parentage ? Attend my fong, and thou malt know them all ; And know Thyfelf ; and know thyfelf to be (Strange truth !) the moft abftemious man alive. M 4 Tell 248 THE COMPLAINT. Night 8. Tell not CALISTA ; fhe will laugh thee dead; Or fend thee to her hermitage with L . Abfurd prefumption ! Thou who never knevv'ft A ferioui thought ! fhalt thou dare dream of joy f No man ere found a happy life by chance ; r yawn'd it into being, with a wifh ; Or, with the fnout of grov'ling appetite ', E'er fmelt it out, and grubb'd it from the diit. An art it is, and muft be learnt ; and learnt With unremitting effort, or be loft ; And leaves us perfect blockheads, in our blifs. The clouds may drop down titles and eftates ; Wealth may feek Us ; but ivifdom muft be fought ; Sought before all ; but (how unlike all elfe We feek on earth !) 'tis never fought in vain. Firft, pleafuris birth, rife, ftrength, and grandeur^ fee Brought forth by luifdom, nurft by difcipline, By patience taught, by per/eve ranc e crown'd, She rears her head majeftic j round her throne, Erected in the bofom of the juft, Each virtue, lifted, forms her manly guard. For what are virtues? (Formidable name !) What, but the fountain, or defence, of joy ? Why, then, commanded ? Need mankind command*, At once to merit, and to make, their blifs ? Great Legiflator ! fcarce fo great, as kind J Jf men are rational, and love delight, Thy gracious law but flatters human choice; In the tranfgreffion lies the penalty ; And they the moft indulge, who molt obey. Of VIRTUE'S A p r o L o c Y, &c. 249 Of pleafure, next, the final caufe explore; Its mighty/ar/0/?, its important end. Not to turn human brutal, but to build Divine on human, pleafure came from heaven. In aid to reafoa was the goddcfs font ; To call up all its ftrength by fuch a charm. Pleafure, firft, fuccour* virtue ; in return, Virtue gives pleafure an eternal reign. What, but the pleafure of food, friendfhip, faith, Supports life nat'ral, ri, 1 ;/, and divine? 'Tis from the pleafure of repaft, we live ; 'Tis from the pleafure of applaufe, we pleafe ; 'Tis from the pleafure of belief, we pray (All pray'r would ceafe, if unbeliev'd the prize) ; It ferves ourfelves, our fpccies, and our Go;l ; And to ferve more, is part the fphere of man. Glide, then, forever, pleafure's facrcd flream! Through Eden* as Euphrates ran, it runs, And foilers ev'ry growth of happy life ; Makes a ne-.v Eden where it flows j but fuch As muft be loft, LORENZO ! by thy fall. " What r;iean I bj ti:y fall?" J hou'lt fhortly fee, While pleafure's nature is at large difplay'd ; Already fun^her origin, and en&s. Thofe glorious ends, by kind, or by degree, When pleafure violates, 'tis then a vice, A vengeance too ; it hallens into pain. From due refreshment, life, health, reafon, joy; From \\ild excefs, pain, grief, diilraftion, death; Heav'n's juftice tbis proclaims, and dot her love. M 5 What 250 THE COMPLAINT. Night 8. What greater evil can I wifh my foe, Than his full draught of pleafure, from a cafic Unbroach'd \>y jiift authority , ungaag'd By temperance, by rtafon unrefin'd ? A thoufand demons lurk within the lee. Heav'n, others, and ourfelves! uninjur'd tbefe, Drink deep ; the deeper, then, the more divine ; Angels are angels, from indulgence there ; 'Tis un-repenting pleafure makes a god. Doft think thyfelf a god from other joys ? A viftim rather! fhortly fure to bleed. The wrong muft mourn : Can heav'n's appointments fail ? Can man outwit Omnipotence ? ftrike o*ut A felf-wrought happinefs unmeant by Him Who made us, and the world we would enjoy ? Who forms an inftrument, ordains from whence Its diflbnance, or harmony, mall rife. Heav'n bid the foul this mortal frame infpire j Bid virtue's ray divine infpire the foul With unprecarious flows of vital joy ; And, without breathing, man as well might hope For life, as without piety, for peace. " Is virtue, then, and piety the'fame ?" No; piety is more; 'tis \irtueYfource ; Mother of ey'ry worth, as that of joy. Men of the wor/i/this dodlrine ill digeft ; They fmile at piety ; yet beafr aloud Good will to men ; nor know they ftrive to part What nature joins ; and thus confute themfclves. With/;V/y begins all good on earth ; 'Tis VIRTUE'S A p o x. o G Y, fcc. 251 'Tis the firft-born of rationality. Confcience, her firft law broken, wounded lies j Enfeebled, lifelefs, impotent to good; A feign'd affe&ion bounds her utmoft power. Some we can't love, but for th' Almighty's fake j A foe to GOD was ne'er true friend to man ; Some finifler intent tain-ts all he does ; And, in his kindeft actions, he's unkind. On piety, humanity is built ; And, on humanity, much happinefsj And yet ftill more on piety itfelf. A foul in commerce with her GOD, is heaven ; Feels not the tumults and the mocks of life ; The whirls of paffions, and the ftrokes of heart. A Deity believ'd, is joy begun ; A Deity ador'd, is joy advanc'd ; A Deity belov'd, is joy matur'dv Each branch of piety delight infpires ; Faith builds a bridge from this world to the next,. O'er death's dark gulph, and all its horror hides > Praife, the fweet exhalation of our joy, That joy exalts, and makes it fweeter ftill ; Pray'r ardent opens heav'n, lets down a ft/earn. Of glory on the confecrated hour Of man, in audience with the Deity. Who worfhips the Great God, that iflftant joins The firft in heav'n, and fets his foot on hell. LORENZO! when waft Thou at church before? Thou think'ft the fervice long : But is it juft ? Tho' juft, unwelcome : Thou hadft rather tread M 6 IT*. 252 THE COMPLAINT. Night S. Unhallow'd ground ; the mufe, to win thine ear, Muft take an air lefs folemn. She complies. Good confdence ! at the found the world retires ; Verfe difaffe&s it, and.LoRENZO fmiles ; Yet has fhe \\erferaglio full of charms; And fuch as age fhall heighten, not impair. Art thou dejecled? Is thy mind o'ercaft ? Amid her fair ones, thou the faireft chufe, To chafe thy gloom. " Go, fix fome weighty truth j " Chain down fome pajjlon ; do fome genrcus g ood ; " Teach ignorance to fee, or grief to fmile ; " Correct thy friend ; befriend thy greateft y^f ; " Or with warm heart, and confidence divine, *' Spring up, and lay ftrong hold on Him who made thee.'* Thy gloom is fcrtter'd, fprightly fpirits flow; Tho' wither'd is thy vine, and harp unftrurg. Do.t call the bowl, the viol, and the dance, Lond mirth, mad laughter? Wretched comforters I Phyficians ! more than half of thy difeafe. Laughter, tho' never cenfur'd yet as fin r (Pardon a thought that only /ams fevere) Is half-immoral : Is it much indulg'd ? By venting fpleen, or difiipating thought,. It fhews a /corner, or it makes ayW; And fins, as hurting others, or ourfelves. 'Tis pride, or empiinefs, applies the ftraw, That tickles little minds to mirth efFufc ; Of grief approaching, the portentous fign ! The houfe of laughter makes a houfe of woe. A man triumphant is a monftrous fight; A nu VIRTUE'S APOLOGY, &c. 253 A man dejefted is a fight as mean. What canfe for triumph, where fuch ills abound ? What for Jejefiion, where prefides a Power, Who call'd us into being to be bleft ? So grieve, as confcious, grief may rife to joy ; So joy, as confcious, joy to grief may fall. Moft true, a wife man never will be fad ; But neither will fonorous, bubbling mirth, A mallow ftream of happinefs betray : Too happy to be fportive, he's ferene. Yet wouldft thou laugh (but at thy own expence), This couniel ftrange ihould I prefume to give " Retire, and read thy Bible, to be gay." There truths abound of fov'reign aid to peace ; Ah ! do not prize them lefs, becaufe infpir'd, As thou, and thine, are apt and proud to do. If not infpir'd, that pregnant page had flood, Time's treafure ! and the wonder of the wife ! Thou think'ft, perhaps, thy /cut alone at Hake ; Alas ! Should men miftake thee for a. feel; What man of tafte for genius, wifdom, truth, Tho' tender of thy fame, could interpofe ? Believe me, fenfe, here, ads a double part, And the true critic is 2. Chriftian too. But tbefe, thou think'ft, are gloomy prths to joy. True joy in funfhine ne'er was found at firft ; They, firft, themfelves offend, who greatly pleafe; And travel only gives us found repofe. Heav'n_/f//r all pleafure ; effort is the price ; The joys of conqueft, are the joys of man j Ani 254 THE COMPLAINT. Night 8. And glory the vi&orious /^vrf/fpreads O'er pleafuris pure, perpetual, placid ftream. There is a time, when toil muft be preferr'd, Or joy, bymif-tim'd fondnefs, is undone. A man of pleafure, is a man of pains, Thou wilt not take the trouble to be bleft. Falfe joys, indeed, are born from want of thought; From thoughts full bent, and energy, the true ; And that demands a mind in equal poize, Remote from gloomy grief, and glaring joy.. Much joy not only fpeaks fmall happinefs, Buthappinefs that (hortly muft expire. Can joy, unbottom'd in refleftion, ftand ? And, in a tempeft, can reflection live ? Can joy, like thine, iecure itfelf an hour ? Can joy, like thine, meet accident unfhock'd ? Or ope the door to honeft poverty ? Or talk with threat'ning death, and not turn pale ? In fuch a world, and fuch a nature, theft Are needful fundamentals of delight : Thefe fundamentals give delight indeed '; Delight, pure, delicate, and durable ; Delight, unfhaken, mafculine, divine; A conftant, and a found, bu t fe rious joy. Is joy the daughter of feverity ? It is : Yet far my dodrine from fevere. " Rejoice for ever :" It becomes a man ; Exalts, and fets him nearer to the gods. ' Rejoice for ever !" Nature cries, " Rejoice ;"" And drinks to man, in her neftareous cup* Mixt VIRTUE'S APOLOGY, &rc. 255 Mixt up of delicates for ev'ry fenfe ; To the great Founder of the bounteous feaft, Drinks glory, gratitude, eternal praifej And he that will not pledge her, is a churl. /// firmly to fupport, good fully tafte, Is the whole fcience of felicity : Yt\. /paring pledge: Her bowl is not the bell Mankind can boaft. " A rational repaft ; *' Exertion, vigilance, a mind in arms, " A military difcipline of thought, " To foil temptation in the doubtful field ; " And ever-waking ardor for the right." *Tis thefe, firft, give, then guard, a chearful heart. Nought that is right, think little; well aware, What reafon bids, GOD bids ; by His command How aggrandiz'd, the fmalleft thing we do ! Thus, nothing is infipid to the wife ; To thee, infipid all, but what is mad' t Joys feafon'd high, and tafling ftrong of guilt. *' Mad! (thou reply'ft, with indignation fir'd) " Of antient fages proud to tread the fteps, " I follow nature." Follow nature ftill, But look it be thine own : Is confcience, then, No part of nature ? Is me not fup reme ? Thou regicide ! O raife her from the dead ! Then, follow nature; and referable GOD. When, fpite of confcience, pleafure is purfu'd, Man's nature is unnaturally pleas'd : And what's unnatural, is painful too At intervals, and muft difguft ev'n Thee f i The 256 THE COMPLAINT. Night 8. The/dtf thou know'ft; but not, perhaps, the caufe. Virtue's foundations with the world's were laid ; Heav'n mixt.her with our make, and twiiitd ckfe Her facred int'relts \v.th the ib'i-Ks of life. Who breaks her aweful mandate, {hocks himfelf, His better felf : And is it greater pain, Our foul fhould murmur, or our ,/.//? repine ? And one, in their eternal \vc.r, mnjl bleed. If one muji fufFer, which fhould leaft be fpar'd? The pains of mind furpafs the pains of fenfe : Afk, then, the gout, what torment is in guilt. The joys ofjevje to mental joys are mean : Senfe on the prefent only feeds ; the foul On palt, and future, forages for joy. 'Tis hers, by retrofpecl, thro' time to range ; And forward time's great fequel to furvey. Could human courts take vengeance on the mind, Axes might rufl, and racks, and gibbets, fall : Guard, then, thy mind, and leave the ie!t to 1. LORENZO! wilt thou never be a mr.n ? The man is dead, who for the body lives, Lur'd, by the beating of his pulie, to lift With ev'ry lufl, thac wars againil his peace ; And fets hirn quite atvariarc with himfflf. Thyfelf, firit, know; then love : A fe'.f there is Of virtue fond, that kindles at her charms. A felf there is, as fond of ev'ry vice, Whi'e ev'ry virtue wounds it to the heart : Humility degrades \\,juj!icc robs, Bleft bounty beggars it, fair truth betrays, Ar.ci VIRTUE'S A P o L o G Y, &c. 257 And god-like magnanimity deftroys. This felf, when rival to the former, fcorn ; When not in competition, kindly treat, Defend it, feed it : But when virtue bids, Tofs it, or to the fowls, or to the flames. And why ? 'Tis love of pleafure bids thee bleed i Comply, or own felf-love extinct, or blind. For what is vice? Self-love in a miitake : A pocr blind merchant buying joys too dear* And virtue, what ? 'Tis feif-love in her wits, Quite fkilful in the market of delight. Self-love's good fenfe is love of ihat dread Power, From whom herfelf, and all Ihe can enjoy. Other felf-love is but difguis'd felf-hate ; More mortal than the malice of our foes ; A felf-hate, now, fcarce felt ; then felt full-fore, When being, curft ; extinction, loud implor'd ; And ev'ry thing preferr'd to what we are. Yettkis felf-love LORENZO makes his choice ;. And, in this choice triumphant, boaits of joy. How is hir, want of happinefs betray'd, By difaffeftion to the prefent hour ! Imagination wanders far afield : The future pleafes : Why ? The prefent pains. " But that's z/ecret." Yes, which all men know ; And know from Thee, difcover'd unawares. Thy ceafelefs agitation, reftlcfs roll From cheat to cheat, impatient of a paufe ; What is it ? 'Tis the cradle of the loul, From injlind fcnt, to rock her in difeafe, Which 258 THE COMPLAINT. Night 8. Which her phyfician, Reafon, will not cure. A poor expedient ! yet thy Left ; and while It mitigates thy pain, it owns it too. Such are LORENZO'S wretched remedies ! The weak have remedies ; the wife have joys. Superior wifdom is fuperior blifs. And what fure mark diftinguifhes the wife ? Confiftent wifdom ever wills the fame ; Thy fickle wifli is ever on the wing. Sick of herfelf, is folly's character ; As wi/dom's is, a modeft felf-applaufe. A change of evils is tky good fupreme ; Nor, but in motion, carcft thou find thy reft. Man's greateft flrength is fhewn in Handing ftil). The firft fure fymptom of a mind in health, Is reft of heart, and pleafure felt at home. Falfe pleafure from abroad her joys imports; Rich from within, and felf-fuftain'd, the true, The true is fixt, and folid as a rock ; Slipp'ry the/ LORENZO faw the man of earth, The martcJ man ; and wretched was the fight. To balance that, to comfort, and exalt, Now fee the man immortal : Him, I mean, Who lives as fuch ; whofe heart, full-bent on heaven, Leans all that way, his by as to the Ibrs. The world's dark mades, in contrail fet, fliall raifc His luftre more ; tho' bright, without a foil : Obferve his aweful portrait, and admire ; Nor Hop at wonder ; imitate, and live. Some angel guide my pencil, while I draw, What nothing lefs than angel can exceed ! A man on earth devoted to the fkies ; Like mips in feas, while in, above the world. With afpect mild, and elevated eye, Behold him feated on a mount ferene, Above the fogs offeri/e, and pajfion's ftorm ; All the black cares, and tumults, of this life, * In a former Ni^ht. Like 264 THE COMPLAINT. Night 8. Like harmlefs thunders, breaking at his feet, Excite his pity, not impair his peace. Earths genuine fons, the fceptred, and the Have, A mingled mob ! a wand'ring herd ! he fees, Bewilder'd in the vale ; in all unlike! His full reverfe in all ! What higher praife ? What ftronger demonflratioh of the right ? The prefent all their care ; the future, bis. When public welfare calls, or private want, They give to fame ; his bounty he conceals. Their virtues varnifh nature ; bis exalt. Mankind's efleem they court; and he, his own. Theirs, the wild chace offalfe felicities j His, the compos'd poffeffion of the true. Alike throughout is bis confident peace, All of one colour, and an even thread ; While party -colour 'd fhreds of happinefs. With hideous gaps between, patch up for then A madman's robe ; each puff of fortune blows The tatters by, and fhews their nakednefs. He fees with other eyes than theirs : Where they Behold z/un, he fpies a Deity ; What makes them only fmile, makes him adore. Where they fee mountains, be but atoms fees ; An empire, in bis balance, weighs a grain. They things terreitrial worfhip, as divine : His hopes immortal blow them by, as duft, That dims his fight, and fhortens his furvey, Which longs, in Infinite, to lofe all bound. Titles and honours (if they prove his fate) 3 H, Vi RTU E'S APOLOG Y, &c. 265 He lays afide to find his dignity ; No dignity they find in aught befides. 'They triumph in externals (which conceal Man's real glory), proud of an eclipfe. Himfelf too much he prizes to be proud, And nothing thinks fo great in man, as max* Too dear be holds his int'reft, to negleft Another's welfare, or his right invade ; Their int'reft, like a lion, lives on prey. They kindle at the fhadow of a wrong j Wrong he fuftains with temper, looks on heaven, Nor ftoops to think his injurer his foe ; Nought, but what wounds his virtue, wounds his peace,. A cover'd heart their character defends ; A cover'd heart denies him half his praife. With nakednefs his innocence agrees ; While their broad foliage teftifies their fall/ their no joys end, where his full feaft begins : His joys create, Theirs murder, future blifs. To triumph in exigence, his alone; And his alone, triumphantly to think His true exiftence is not yet begun. His glorious courfe was, yefterday, complete ; Death, then, was welcome ; yet life ftill is fweet. But nothing charms LOHENZO, like the firm, Undaunted breaft And whofe is that high praife I They yield to pleafure, tho' they danger brave, And mew no fortitude, but in the field ; If there they Ihew it, 'tis for glory fhewn ; Nor will that cordial always man their hearts. VOL. III. N A cordial 266 THE COMPLAINT. Night 3. A cordial bis Aiflains, that cannot fail ; Bypleafure unfubdu'd, unbroke by pain, He lhares in that Omnipotence he truih. All-bearing, all-attempting, till he falls ; And when he falls, writes VICI on his ihieid. From magnanimity, s\\fear above ; From nobler recompence, above applaufe ; Which owes to man's flwrt out-look all its charms. Backward to credit what he never felt, LORENZO cries, " Where mines this miracle ? " From what root rifes this immortal man ?" A root that grows not in LORENZO'S ground ; The root difleft, nor wonder at the_/70 man ; and, exercis'd aright, Will make him I re : A bounteous joy ! that gives, And promifes ; that weaves, with art divine, The richeft profpeft into prefent peace : A joy ambitious / Joy in common held With thrones ethereal, and their greater far ; A joy high-privileg'd from chance, time, death ! A joy, which death {hall double, judgment crown ! Crown'd higher, and ftill higher, at each ftage, Thro' bleft eternity's long day ; yet ftill, Not more remote fromj6fr0*0, than from Him, Whofe lavifhhand, whofe love ftupenJous, pours So much of Deity on guilty duft. fbere, O my LUCIA ! may I meet thee there, Where not thy prefence can improve ny bills ! AiFecls not this the /age s of the ov- ? Can nought ajfett them, but wh; : .fools them roc ? V i R T u E 's APOLOGY, 5cc. 273 Eternity, depending on an hour, Makes ferious thought man's wifdom, joy, and praife. Nor need you bluth (tho' fometimcs your defigns May fhun the light) at your defigns on heaven : bole point ! where o--ver-bafi}ful\s your blame. Are you not wife ? You know you are : Yet hear One truth, amid your nura'rous fchemes, miflaid, Or overlook'd, or thrown afide, if feenj " Our felicities to plan by this world, or the next, " Is the fole difference between wife and fool." All ivsrtty men will weigh you in this fcale ; What wonder then, if they pronounce you light ? Is /tt>efteem alone not worth your care ? Accept my fimple fcheme of common fenfe : Thus, fave your fame, and make two worlds your own. The world replies not ; but the world per/tfts ; And puts the caufe off to the longefl day, Planning evafions for the day of doom. So far, at that re-bearing, from redrefs, They then turn luitnejjes againil themfelves, Hear that, LORENZO ! Nor be wife to-morrow. Hafte, hafle! A man, by nature, is in hade ; For who (hall anfwer for another hour ? 'Tis highly prudent, to make one fure friend; And that thou canft not do, this fide the ikies. Ye fons of earth ! (nor willing to be more !) Since verfe you think from prieilcraft fomewhat free, Thus, in an age fo gay, the mufe plain truths (Truths, which, at church, you might have heard in profe) Has ventur'd into light ; well-pleas'd the verfe Should 274 THE COMPLAINT. Night 8. Should be forgot, if you the truths retain ; And crown her with your welfare, not your praife. But praife me need not fear : I fee my fate ; And headlong leap, like CURTIUS, down thegulph. Since many an ample volume, mighty tome, Muft diej and die unwept; O thou minute Devoted page ! go forth among thy foes ; Go, nobly proud of martyrdom for truth, And die a double death : Mankind incens'd, Denies thee long to live : Nor malt thou reft, When thou art dead ; in Stygian (hades arraign 7 d By LUCIFER, as traitor to his throne j And bold blafphemer of his friend, the WORLD ; The WORLD, whofe legions coft him flender pay, And volunteers, around his banner fwarm ; Prudent, as PRUSSIA, in her zeal for GAUL. " Are all, then, fools?" LORENZO cries. Yes, all, But fuch as hold this doftrine (new to thee) ; ** The mother of true wifdom is the will;" The nobleft intellect, a fool without it. World- wifdom much has done, and more may do, In arts and fciences, in wars, and peace ; But art and fcience, like thy wealth, will leave thee., And make thee twice a beggar at thy death. 1"hii is the moft indulgence can afford ; *' 'Thy luifdom all can do, but make tbee wt/g.'* Nor think this cenfure is fevere on thee j Satan, thy mailer, I dare call a dunce. END of VOL III. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below lOm-11,'50 (2555)470 muni 3 1158 01022 9978 A 000 007 730 5 JTHErt"! wR/NCH, :ITY OK CALIFORNIA, UBF ' - /, OS AKGF. C/ LiF. ,