How small a part-of nothing, shall I say?
Why not?-Friends,our chief treasure! how they drop!
Lucia, Narcissa fair, Philander, gone!
The grave, like fabled Cerberus, has op'd
A triple mouth, and in an awful voice
Loud calls my soul, and utters all I sing.
How the world falls to pieces round about us,
And leaves us in a ruin of our joy!
What says this transportation of my friends?
It bids me love the place where now they dwell,
And scorn this wretched spot they leave so poor.
Eternity's, vast ocean lies before thee;
There, there, Lorenzo! thy Clarissa sails.
Give thy mind sea-room; keep it wide of earth,
That rock of souls immortal; cut thy cord;
Weigh anchor; spread thy sails; call every wind;
Eye the Great Pole-star; make the land of Life.
Two kinds of life has double-natur'd man,
And two of death; the last far more severe.
Life animal is nurtur'd by the sun,
Thrives on his bounties, triumphs in his beams:
Life rational subsists on higher food,
Triumphant in his beams who made the day:
When we leave that sun, and are left by this,
(The fate of all who die in stubborn guilt)
'Tis utter darkness; strictly double death.
We sink by no judicial stroke of Heav'n,
But Nature's course, as sure as plummets fall.
Since God or man must alter ere they meet,
(Since light and darkness blend not in one sphere)
"Tis manifest, Lorenzo, who must change.
If, then, that double death should prove thy lot, Blame not the bowels of the Deity;
Man shall be bless'd, as far as man permits.
Not man alone, all rationals Heav'n arms
With an illustrious, but tremendous power,
To counteract its own most gracious ends,
And this of strict necessity, not choice;
That power deny'd, men, angels, were no more
But passive engines, void of praise or blame.
A nature rational implies the power
Of being bless'd or wretched as we please,
Else idle Reason would have nought to do,
And he that would be barr'd capacity
Of pain, courts incapacity of bliss.
Heav'n wills our happiness, allows our doom;
Invites us ardently, but not compels:
Heav'n but persuades, almighty man decrees.
Man is the maker of immortal fates.
Man falls by man, if finally he falls;
And fall he must, who learns from death alone
The dreadful secret,-that he lives for ever.
Why this to thee?-thee yet, perhaps, in doubt
Of second life? but wherefore doubtful still?
Eternal life is Nature's ardent wish:
What ardently we wish we soon believe:
The tardy faith declares that wish destroy'd:
What has destroy'd it?-shall I tell thee what?
When fear'd the future, 'tis no longer wish'd;
And when unwish'd, we strive to disbelieve.
Thus infidelity our guilt betrays.'
Nor that the sole detection! Blush, Lorenzo!
Blush for hypocrisy, if not for guilt.
The future fear'd?-An infidel, and fear?
Fear what? a dream? a fable?-How thy dread,
Unwilling evidence, and therefore strong,
Affords my cause an undesign'd support?
How Disbelief affirms what it denies!
'It, unawares, asserts immortal life.'-
Surprising! infidelity turns out
A creed and a confession of our sins:
Apostates, thus, are orthodox divines.
Lorenzo! with Lorenzo clash no more,
Nor longer a transparent vizor wear.
Think'st thou Religion only has her mask?
Our infidels are Satan's hypocrites,
Pretend the worst, and, at the bottom, fail. When visited by thought (thought will intrude) Like him they serve, they tremble, and believe. Is there hypocrisy so foul às this?
A miracle with miracles inclos'd
Is man! and starts his faith at what is strange?
What less than wonders from the wonderful?
What less than miracles from God can flow?
Admit a God-that mystery supreme!
That cause uncaus'd! all other wonders cease:
Nothing is marvellous for him to do:
Deny him-all is mystery besides;
Millions of mysteries! each darker far
Than that thy wisdom would, unwisely, shun.
If weak thy faith, why choose the harder side?
We nothing know but what is marvellous;
Yet what is marvellous we can't believe,
So weak our reason, and so great our God,
What most surprises in the sacred page,
Or full as strange, or stranger, must be true.
Faith is not reason's labour, but repose.
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; She bids us quit realities for dreams, Safety and peace for hazard and alarm. That tyrant o'er the tyrants of the soul, She bids Ambition quit its taken prize, Spurn the luxuriant branch on which it sits Though bearing crowns, to spring at distant game,
And plunge in toils and dangers-for repose.
If hope precarious, and of things, when gain'd,
Of little moment and as little stay,
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 pow'r 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, through 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 bless'd 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,
Though 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.
• The poetical parts of it.
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 Heav'n and Earth to plead against And is thy soul immortal?-What remains? [thee? All, all, Lorenzo!-make immortal bless'd. Unbless'd 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 thou wouldst be call'd)
And art thou proud of that inglorious style?
Proud of reproach? for a reproach it was,
In ancient days, and Christian,-in an age
When men were men, and not asham'd of Heav'n,
Fir'd their ambition, as it crown'd their joy.
Sprinkled with dews from the Castalian font,
Fain would I rebaptize thee, and confer
A purer spirit, and a nobler name.
Thy fond attachments, fatal and inflam'd,
Point out my path, and dictate to my song.
To thee the world how fair! how strongly strikes
Ambition! and gay Pleasure stronger still!
Thy triple bane! the triple bolt that lays
Thy virtue dead! be these my triple theme;
Nor shall thy wit or wisdom be forgot.
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