Which not the whole creation could produce; In proud disdain of what e'en gods adore, Dost smile? Poor wretch! thy guardian angel weeps. Angels, and men, assent to what I sing; Wits smile, and thank me for my midnight dream. How vicious hearts fume phrensy to the brain! Parts push us on to pride, and pride to shame; Pert infidelity is wit's cockade, То grace the brazen brow that braves the skies, By loss of being, dreadfully secure. Lorenzo! if thy doctrine wins the day, And drives my dreams, defeated, from the field; If this is all, if earth a final scene, Take heed; stand fast; be sure to be a knave; A knave in grain! ne'er deviate to the right : Shouldst thou be good - how infinite thy loss! Guilt only makes annihilation gain. Blest scheme which life deprives of comfort, death Of hope; and which vice only recommends. If so, where, infidels! your bait thrown out What can reclaim you? Dare I hope profound Philosophers the converts of a song? Yet know, its title flatters you, not me; Yours be the praise to make my title good; Mine, to bless heaven, and triumph in your praise. But since so pestilential your disease, Tho' sovereign is the med'cine I prescribe, As yet, I'll neither triumph, nor despair: But hope, ere long, my midnight dream will wake Your hearts, and teach your wisdom to be wise: For why should souls immortal, made for bliss, E'er wish (and wish in vain!) that souls could die? What ne'er can die, Oh! grant to live; and crown The wish, and aim, and labour of the skies; Increase, and enter on the joys of heaven : Thus shall my title pass a sacred seal, Receive an imprimatur from above, While angels shout an infidel reclaimed! To close, Lorenzo! spite of all my pains, Still seems it strange, that thou shouldst live for ever? Is it less strange, that thou shouldst live at all? Who gave beginning, can exclude an end. Is man; and starts his faith at what is strange? *The Infidel Reclaimed. That cause uncaus'd! all other wonders cease; Nothing is marvellous for him to do: Deny him all is mystery besides; To faith, and virtue, why so backward, man? From hence : - the present strongly strikes us all; The future, faintly: can we, then, be men? If men, Lorenzo! the reverse is right. Reason is man's peculiar: sense, the brute's. The present is the scanty realm of sense; The future, reason's empire unconfin'd: On that expending all her godlike power, She plans, provides, expatiates, triumphs, there; There, builds her blessings! there, expects her praise; And nothing asks of fortune, or of men. And what is reason? Be she, thus, defin'd Reason is upright stature in the soul. Oh! be a man ; and strive to be a god. "For what? (thou say'st) to damp the joys of life?" No; to give heart and substance to thy joys. That tyrant, hope; mark how she domineers; for repose. If hope precarious, and of things, when gain'd, Can sweeten toils and dangers into joys; What then that hope, which nothing can defeat, Our leave unask'd? Rich hope of boundless bliss! Bliss, past man's power to paint it; time's to close! This hope is earth's most estimable prize: This is man's portion, while no more than man: Hope, of all passions, most befriends us here; Passions of prouder name befriend us less. Joy has her tears; and transport has her death; Hope, like a cordial, innocent, tho' strong, Man's heart, at once, inspirits, and serenes; Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys; 'Tis all our present state can safely bear, Health to the frame! and vigour to the mind! A joy attemper'd! a chastis'd delight! Like the fair summer evening, mild, and sweet! 'Tis man's full cup; his paradise below! A blest hereafter, then, or hop'd, or gain'd, Is all; our whole of happiness: full proof, I chose no trivial or inglorious theme. And know, ye foes to song! (well meaning men, Tho' quite forgotten * half your Bible's praise!) Important truths, in spite of verse, may please: Grave minds you praise; nor can you praise too much : If there is weight in an eternity, Let the grave listen; and be graver still. NIGHT VIII. VIRTUE'S APOLOGY; OR, THE MAN OF THE WORLD ANSWERED. IN WHICH ARE CONSIDERED, THE LOVE OF THIS LIFE; THE AMBITION AND PLEASURE, WITH THE WIT AND WISDOM OF THE WORLD. AND has all nature, then, espous'd my part? Have I brib'd heaven, and earth, to plead against thee? And is thy soul immortal? What remains? All, all, Lorenzo ! Make immortal, blest. - Unblest immortals! - What can shock us more? And yet Lorenzo still affects the world; There, stows his treasure; thence, his title draws, Man of the world (for such wouldst thou be call'd) And art thou proud of that inglorious style? Proud of reproach? for a reproach it was, *The poetical parts of it. |