The centaur not fabulous. In six letters to a friend, on the life in vogue. … Vol. IV. 1764: Vol 3
Young, Edward
Fw 2 A << 7 e — . ͤ ⁰ËËËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËLËL� Eruption, from a purer stream, And fuller of the god, than that which burst From famed Castalia: Nor is yet allayed My sacred thirst; though long my soul has rang Through pleasing ache of moral and divine, By Thee sustain, and lighted by the stars. By them best lighted are the paths of thought; Nights are their days, their most illumin'd hours. By day, the soul, o'erborne by life's career, Stung by the din, and giddy with the glare, Reels far from reason, justified by the throng. Buy day the soul is passive, all her thoughts Impossible, precarious, broken, ere mature. By night from objects free, from passion cool, Thoughts uncontroul'd, and unimproved, the births Of pure election, arbitrary range. Not to the limits of one world confin'd; But from ethereal travels light on earth, As voyagers drop anchor, for repose. Leet Indians, and the gay, like Indians, fond Of feathered fopperies, the sun adore: Darkness has more divinity for me; It strikes thought inward; it drives back the soul To settle on herself, our point supreme! There lies our theatre; there sits our judge. Darkness the curtain drops over life's dull scene; Tis the kind hand of Providence stretched out 'Twixt man and vanity; it's reason's reign, And virtue's too; these tutelary shades Are man's asylum from the tainted throng, Night is the good man's friend, and guardian too; It no less recues virtue, than inspires. Virtue for ever frail, as fair, below, Her tender nature suffers in the croud, Nor touches on the world, without a stain: The world's infectious; few bring back at eve, Immaculate. Rulate, the manners of the morn. Something we thought, is blotted; we resolved, Is shaken; we renounced, returns again. Each salutation may slide in a sin Unthought before, or fix a former flaw. Nor is it strange: Light, motion, Concout, see, All, scatter us abroad; thought outward-bound, Neglect of our home affairs, flies off In fame and dissipation, quits her charge, And leaves the breast unguarded to the foe. Present example gets within our guard, And acts with doubly force, by few repell. Ambition fires ambition; love of gain strikes, like a pecuniary, from breast  objects, black by night. By night an Atheist half-believes a God. Night is fair virtue's immemorial friend; The conscious moon thro' every distant age, Flas held a lamp to wisdom, and let fall, On contemplation's eye, her purging ray. The famed Athenian, he who dwells with men, And forms their manners, not inflame their pride, While over his head, as fearful to mote, His laboring mind, the stars in silence glide, And seem all gazing on their future guest, See him soliciting his ardent suit, In private audience: All the living night, Rigid in thought, and motionless he stands; Nor quits his theme, or posture, till the sun The rest are passing, the sun is rising, And the world is excluded, every passion hath, And opens a calm intercourse with heaven, Here the soul sits in council; ponders pant, Predestines future action; not feels, Tumultuous life, and reasons with the storm; All her eyes answer, and things down her charms. What aweful joy! What mental liberty I am not pent in darkness; rather say (If not too bold) in darkness. The embezzlement ring thoughts of Spontaneous grief, and blooming in the hand; But droop by day, and sing in the sun. Thought borrows light else where; from that window of fortune, Fount of animation! whence descends Uranta, my celestial guest! who? Nightly to visit me, so mean; and now Conscious how needless to please man; From pleasing dalliance with the charms of night My wandering thought recalls, to what excites: Far other beat of heart; Nax ISA tomb? Or is he calls me back, And breaks my spirit into grief again? Is it a syphon vapour in my blood? A cold, flowing puddle, creeping through my veins? Or is it chus with all men? — Thus with all. What are we? How unequal! Now we soar, And now we sing; to be the same, transcends Our present Sewn: Dearly pays the debt; too dearly rents herish. Reaçon, a baffled counselor! but adus 2 871 The blush of weakness, to the Bane of woe. The noble spirit fighting her hard fate, In this damp, dusty region, charged with storms, But feebly flutters, yet untaught to fly; Or, flying, short her flight, and sure her fall. Our utmost strength, when down, to rise again; And not to yield, the beaten, all our praise. Tis vain to seek in men, for more than man. The proud promise, big in previous thought, Experience damps our triumph. I, who late, Emerging from the shadows of the grave, Where grief detained me prisoner, mounting high, Threw wide the gates of everlasting day, And called mankind to glory. Hook, Fe Mortality, hook off, in Ether pure, And struck the stars; no feel my spirits fail; They drop me from the zenith; down I 6th, Like him whom fable fledg'd with waxen wings, In sorrow drowned—but not, in sorrow, lost. No wretched is the man, who never mourned. I dive for precious pearl, in sorrow's stern: Not so the thoughtless man that only grieves; Takes all the torment, and rejects the gain Inelegant gain; and gives heaven leave To make him but more wretched, not more wise. If wisdom's our lesson (and what else Ennobles man? What else have angels learnt?) Grief! more proficients in thy school are made, Than genius, or proud learning, ere could boast. Voracious learning, often over-fed, Diseases not into sense her motley means. This book-case, with dark booty almost burst, This forager on others will. ſdom, leaves The RERLA PSE. 101 Her native farm; her reason, quite untill'd. - With mixt manure she surveys the rank soil, Dung'd, but not distressed; and rich to beggary. A pomp untameable of weeds preyails, Her servants' wealth, incumber'd with mourns. - And what says genius? Let the dull be wise: Genius, too hard for right, can prove it wrong; And loves to boast, where blushing men lose. It pleads exemption from the laws of sciences. Conversations reason as a leveller; And scorns to share a blessing with the crowd. That wise it could be, thinks an ample claim - To glory, and to pleasure gives the rest. Crassus but sleeps, Apelles is undone. Wisdom lets suns at a fool, than wit. But wisdom lets sunshine, when humbled mortals weep. When sorrow wounds the breast, as ploughs the glebe And hearts obdurate feel her soft ning shower; Her seed celestial, then, glad wisdom shows; Her golden harvest triumphs in the soil. If so, Naxcrsa! welcome my Relapse. Il raiſe a tax on my calamity, And reap rich compensation from my pain. Il range the plenteous intellectual field; And gather every thought of sovereign power To chase the moral maladies of man T Vogts, which may bear transplanting to the soil, The natives of this coarse penurious soil. Nor wholly wither there, where here is the sun, Refin d, exalted, not annihilated, in heaven. Reason, the sun that gives them birth, the gain. In either clime, the more illustrious, there. The choicely called, and elegantly rang, shall form a garland for Naxessa's tomb. 1702 The Company... "Nights and peradventure; of no fading flowers. FOR 05; Say, on what themes shall-puzzled: choice descend? Th' importance of contemplating Romas; Why men decline it; Juvenile's foul birth; The various hands of grief; the faults of age; And deaths dread character—invite my song. And, first the importance of our end — Friends counsel quick dissolution of our grief: Misfaken kindness; our hearts heal soon. Are they more kind than he, who struck the blow? Who bid it do his errand in our hearts, And banish peace, till nobler guests arrive, And bring it back, a true, and endless peace? Calamities are friends: As glaring day of night, Of those unnumbered lustres robs our — Proscenium, and light divine, to man. The man who best, who, sick of us, (Scenes apt to thrust between us and ourselves) Is led by choice to take his favorite walk, Beneath death's gloomy, silent, cypress shades, Unpierced by vanity's fantastic ray, Beneath the dust of our souls. To read his monuments, to weigh his dust, Viſit his vaults, and dwell among the tomb 594 Lb 1; 0 Lok ENZO! read with me Nanciss4sflone A (Naxcissa was thy favorite) let us read Her moral tone; few doctors preach so well; Few orators so tenderly can touch Edo keufſe The feeling heart. What Pathos in the date 170 Apt words can strike; and yet in them we Faint images of what we, here, elo. What cause have we to build on length of life pots Temptations: seize; when fear is laid asleep; And ill foreboded is our guard. The Racket See from her tomb, as from an humble shrine, Truth, radiant goddess! falls on my soul, And puts delusion's darkness train to flight; Dispels the most our subtle passions raiſe, From objects low, terrestrial, and obscure; And shows the real estimate of things; Which no man, unafflicted, ever saw; Pulls off the veil from virtue's rising charms; Detects temptation in a thousand lyes. Truth bids me look on men, as autumn leaves, And all they bleed for, as the summer's dust, Drawn by the whirlwind: Lighted by her beams; I widen my horizon, gain new powers, See things invisible, see things remote, Am present with futurities; think nought To man so foreign, as the joys pass e; No folly keeps its color in her sight; Pale worldly wisdom loves all her charms; In pompous promise from her schemes profound, If future fate she plans. It is all in leaves, like Sil, unsubstantial, fleeting, and fleeting, at the first blast it vaunts in air. Not so, celestial: Wouldst thou know, Loxznzo! How differently wisdom, and divine just as the waning, and the waxing moon. More empty worldly wisdom every day and every day more fair her rival shines. When later, there's less time to play the fool. Soon our whole term for wisdom is expired (Thou knowest she calls no council in the grave) And everlasting fool is writing fire, Or real wisdom waits us to the skies. As worldly schemes resemble Hills leaves, The good man's to Sybil's books compare, In ancient story read, thou knowest the tale) In price still rising, as in number leaves, In unpretentious quite his final hour, For that who thrones can offer, offer thrones; Infolvent worlds the purchase cannot pay. Oh, let me die his death! all nature cries. Then live his life — All nature falters there: Our great physician daily to consult, To commune with the grave, our only cure; What grave preachers the best? A friend's; and yet, From a friend's grave, how soon we disengage! Eva to the dearest, as his marble, cold. Why are friends right from us? It's to bind, By soft affection's ties, on human hearts, The thought of death, which reason, too supine, Or misemploy, so rarely fastens there, Nor rea ſon, nor affection, no, nor both Combined, can break the witchcrafts of the world, Behold the inexorable hour at hand! Behold the inexorable hour forgot! And to forget it, the chief aim of life, Tho' well to ponder it, is life's chief end. Is death, that ever threatening, never remote, That all important, and that only sure, Come when he will, an unexpected guest? Nay, though invited by the loudest calls Of blind imprudence, unexpected still? Tho' numerous meſgers are sent before, To warn his great arrival. What the cause, The wondrous cause, of this mysterious ill? All heaven looks down upon at the sight. Is it that life has shown her joys so thick, We can't thrust in a single care between? The RELAPSE, as Is it, that ifs has such a n of cares, The thought of death can't enter for the heart? Is it, that time steals on with downy feet, Nor wakes indulgence from her Yankees den? Today is so like yesterday; it cheats? We take the lying sister for the same ator. Life glides away, London! like a brook; For ever changing, unperceived the change. In the same brook none ever hath him to To the same life none ever twice awok. We call the brook the same; the same dein. Our life, though still. More rapid in its flow of gold, Nor mark the much irrevocably lapsed, And mingled with the sea. Or shall we (Retaining still the brook to bear us on) That life is like a vessel on the stream? In life, embarking, we smoothly down the ad. Of time, but not on time intent; Amused, unconscious of the gliding wave; Till on a sudden we perceive a shock; We start, awake, look out. What we there? Our brittle bark is burst on Charor's shore. Is this the cause: death flies all human thought? Or is it judgment, by the will struck? What domineering mystery of the soul! Like him so strong by Dalilab the fair? Or is it fear turns straight back, From looking down a precipice so steep? Is dreadful; and the dread is wisely placed, Buy nature conscious of the make of man. A dreadful friend it is, a terror kind, A flaming sword to guard the tree of life. By that unawd, in life's most smiling hour, I good man would repine; would suffer joys, And the dread is withal, And the bad, on each puny, pensive of pride Or gloom of humour, would give on me! Bound over the barrier, rush into the dark. And mar the scenes of Providence below withal. What groan was that, LoR ENZO > — Furies! nie W And drown, in your leſs execrable yell, | Britannia's ſhame. There took her Weer. an, On wing impetuous, a black ſullen ſoul, 50 of Blaſted from hell, with: horrid luſt of death... 6) Thuy friend, the brave; the gallant #22120 99 So call'd, fo thought—And ben be fled: i, 1 40 | Leſs baſe the fear of death, than fear of lie. [Tem 1054 O Britain, infamous for Suicide! 7 An i/land in thy manners J far disjoin d ES} From the whole world of rational ei! i at I I 26647 Waſh he dire damn, ess n ob wet 30 But thou be ſhock'd, While I dete@-the ſe.” Em A. Of /elf-aſſault, expoſe the monſter's birth, 4 And bid abhorrence hiſs it round the World: Blame not thy clime, nor chide the diſtant b. Tr The ſun is innocent, thy dime abſoly'd n ONE 3-21 Immoral climes kind nature never made The cauſe I ſing, in Eden might penal,” 50 ph 08 1d T And proves, It is thy folly, not thy fate. = 855 4 — — ” . _ — wy ks Pn ay m = ot Pwr re WT oo ern OURS orient or 2 FE oo en pion one, TRE The ſoul of man (Let man in homage bow, Who names his ſoul), a native of the ſkies! | 3 High- born, and free, her freedom ſhould maintain, 2 Uuſold, unmortgag d for enrih's little bribes. chap ap Tb' illuſtrious ſtranger, in this e Like ſtrangers, jealous of her dignity, Studious of home, and ardent to return, | of re — - N s inchanted cup — N n Wik | The RELAPSE. 4 10 With cool reſerve light touching, ſhould 4 On immortality, her godlike taſte; There take large draughts ; make her chief banquet ther 6. But some reject this sustenance divine; To beggarly vile appetites descend; A kiss alms of earth, for guests that came from heaven! Sink into slaves; and sell, for present hire, Their rich reverence, and (what shares its fate) Their native freedom, to the prince who ways This nether world. And when his payments fail, When his foul basket gorges them no more, Or their pallid palates loath the basket full; Are instantly, with wild demoniac rage, For breaking all the chains of Providence, And bursting their confinement; though fait barred By laws divine and human; guarded straight With horrors doubled to defend the pass, The blackest, nature, or dire guilt, can rule; And moated round, with fathomless destruction, Sure to receive, and whelm them in their fall. Such, Britons! is the cause, to you unknown, Or worse, overlooked; overlooked by magistrates, Thus criminals themselves. I grant the deed Is madness; but the madness of the heart. Is And what is that? Our utmost bound of guilt. A. sensual, unreflecting life, is big With monstrous births, and suicide, to crown The world. The black infernal brood. The bold to break - Heaven's law supreme, and desperately rum Through sacred nature's murder, on their own Becauae they never think of death, they die... Tis equally man's duty, glory, gain, At once to shun, and meditate, his end. 9 8. 108 the Com PLA! N r. Night 8 wen by the bed of languishment we fit, = (The seat of wisdom!) if our choice, not fate) Or, or our dying friends, in anguish hang. Wipe the cold dew, or stay the sinking head, Number their moments, and, in every clock, Start at the voice of an Eternity; See the dim lamp of life just feebly lift An agonizing beam, at us to gare, Then sink again; and quiver into death; That most pathetic herald of our own; How read we such scenes? As sent to man - In perfect vengeance? No; in pity sent, To melt him down, like wax, and the omnipresence, Indelible, death's image on his heart; Bleeding for others, trembling for himself. We bleed, we tremble, we forget, we smile. The mind turns fool, before the cheek is dry. Our quick-returning folly cancels all; As the tide rushing raises what is writ In yielding hands, and smooths the letter d'hôte... Lorenzo! ha?t thou ever weighed a a g Or studied the philosophy of tears? (A science, yet, unleached in our schools!) Hast thou descended deep into the breast, And seen their source? If not, descend with me, And trace these briny riv'lets to their springs. Our fun real tears, from different causes, rise. As if from separate ciſterns In the soul, Of various kinds, they flow. From tender hearts, By soft contagion called, some burst at once, And streams obnoxious to the leading eye. O Some ask more time, by curious art disfigured. Some hearts in secret hard, unapt to melt, Struck the eye of the public eye. Like. "The earth"? Like Moses' smitten rock, on earth out again: Some weep to share the fame of the deceas d, So high in merit, and to them so dear. They dwell on praises, which they think they share; And thus, without a blush, commend themselves. Some mourn in proof, that something they could love; They weep not to relieve their grief, but show. Some weep in perfect justice to the dead. As conscious all their love is in art, Some mischievous weep; not unappris d, Tears; sometimes, aid the conquest of an eye. With what addresse the soft Ephezians draw; Their battle net-work over entangled hearts? As seen through? crystal, how their roses glow, While quid pearl runs trickling down their cheek? Of hers not prouder-Egypt's wanton queen, Carousing gems, herself dissolved in love. Some weep at death, abject from the dead. And celebrate, like CHARLES, their owneſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſeſe and her alone. It is rational all sorrow are beneath, That noble gift! that privilege of man From sorrow's pang, the birth of endless joy. But these are barren of that birth divine: They weep impetuous, as the summer storm, And full as short! The cruel grief soon tamed, Far as the deep-reigning knell, they spread The dreadful news, and hardly feel it more. No grain of wisdom pays them for their own. Half - round the globe, the tears pummeled up by death Are spent in watching vanities of life; In making folly flourish it still more fair. When the sick soul, her wonted stay withdrawn; Declines on earth, and sorrows in the dust; Instead of learning, there, her true support, Tho' there thrown down her true support to learn. Without heaven's aid, impatient to be blessed, She crawls to the next shrub, or bramble vile, With state, for worn-out embraces, clings anew, The stranger weds, and blooms, as before, In all the fruitless fopperies of life. Preachers her weed, well-fancy'd, at the ball, And raffles for the death's head on the ring. So wept AuRELIA, till the deformed youth Stept in, with his receipt for making n And blanching tables into bridal bloom. Co wept LORENZ o fair CLARKISSA's 4:45; Who gave that angel boy, on whom he And died to give him, orphaned in his birth! Not such, Nax cissà, my diſtreſt for Thee. To make an altar of thy sacred tomb, To sacrifice to wisdom. What was Thou? d. Young, gay, and fortunate! Each yields a treasure To him thought more severe; Heaven knows I labour with severer still! Tull dwell on each, and quite exhaust thy death A soul without reflection, like a pile Without e to ruin. The ReLarse, And, first, thy youth. What says it to grey bar? Nazareth, I'm become thy pupil now— Early, bright, transient, chastened, as morning? She sparkled, was exhausted, and went to heaven. Time on this head has shown; yet still it is borne: Aloft; nor thinks but on aber? So grave. Cover'd with shame I speak it, age severe. Old worn-out vice sets down for virtue fair; With graceful gravity, chastising youth, That youth chastised suffering in a fault, Father of all, forgetfulness of death: As if, like objects preuding on the sight, Death had advanced too near us to be seen: Or, that life's loan time ripened into right; And men might plead prescription from the deathless, Deathless, from repetition of reprieve. Deathless? far. From it! Such are dead already; Their hearts are buried, and the world their grave. Tell me, some god! My guardian angel! Tell, What thus infatuates? What inchantment plants The phantom of an age twixt us, and death Already at the door? He knocks, we beat him, And yet we will not hear. What mail defends Our untouch'd hearts? What miracle turns of life The pointed thought, which from a thousand quivers Is daily darted, and is daily spun? We stand, as in a battle, throngs on chords Around us talling; wounded oft our selves; Tho' bleeding with our wounds, immortal still. We see time's furrows on another's brow, And death intrench'd; preparing his assault; How few themselves, in that just mirror, feel! Or, seeing, draw their inference as strong! Or, seeing, draw their inference as strong! The life; and promises our future bliss. How shocking! It makes folly thrice a fool: And our first childhood might our last A e — Nothing but wisdom gives the fruit; the 10%, a Our wishes lengthen, as our sun declines; Neo wishes should loiter, there; this side the Wave 1 Is "RO ITY + the ah; 6 Wo. The Completion of the Night. And soon we may, within an age, expire. Tho' grey our heads, our thoughts and aims are Like damned clocks, whose hand and bell dient; Folly fine Six, while nature points at Twelve. Abundance longevity! More, more, it cries: More life, more wealth, more truth of every kind. And wherefore mad for more, when rich fails? Object, and appetite, must club for joy; Shall folly labor hard to mend the bow, Baubles, I mean, that strike us from without, While nature is relaxing every spring! A sense thought for joy; grow rich, and hoard e Think you the soul, when this life's rattles cease; Has nothing of more manly to succeed? Contract the taste immortal; learn even now. To relish what alone, subsists hereafter. Divine, or none, henceforth your joys borrow ever. Of age the glory is; to go to die. That wish is praise and promise; it applauds. What weakness sees not children in their Grand-circumstance s Grey hair of authority; to faults we ſteem is all that age can hope. Nothing, but the repute of being wise. Folly bars both; our age is quite undone = p 0 N + What folly can bet ranker? icon, pt 97 Our hearts should leave the world, before Wh wy 5 Calls for our cares to mend the soil. Enough to live in tempest, die in port; Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat Defects of judgment; and the will subdue; on Walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore Of that vast ocean it must must fail so soon; And put good works on board; and wait the wind: That shortly blows us into worlds unknown. If unconfidered too, a dreadful scene! All should be prophets to themselves; Their future fate; their future fate foretells; This art would waste the bitterness of death. The thought of death alone, the sea destroys. A dissolution to that precious thought Is more than midnight darkness on the soul, Which sleeps beneath it, on a precipice, Puff off by the first blast, and lost forever: Do not ask, Lorenzo, why so warmly press, By repetition hammer on thine ear, The thought of death? That thought is the an The grand machine, that heaves us from the dust. And rears us into men. That thought, plowed home, Will soon reduce the ghostly precipice O'er-hanging hell, will soon the dearest, And gently slope our way. Papaſſage to the grave; How warmly to be withered! What heart of fleſh Would trifle with tremendous? Dare extremes: Yawn over the fate of infinite? What hand, Beyond the blackest brand of censure bold; (To speak a language well known to Thee) Would at a moment give its all to chance, And stamp the die for an eternity? Aid me, Naxcissa! aid me to keep pace With destiny; and ere her ſeiſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſ Of moral death, that ties me to the world. Sitting upon my thumb ring reason to send forth A thought of observation on the foe; To silently; and survey the rapid march Of his ten thousand meusengers to man; Who, like a wise, behind him turns them all. All accident apart, by nature sign, My warrant is gone out, though dormant yet; Perhaps behind one moment lurks my fate. Must I then forward only look for death? Backward I turn mine ere, and find him there. Man is a self-survey every year. Man, like a stream, is in perpetual flow. Death's a destroyer of quotidian prey. My youth, my noon tide, His! my! The bold invader shares the present hour. Each moment on the former shuts the grave. While man is growing, life is in decrease; And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb. Our birth is nothing but our death begun; As tapers waste, that instant, they wake fire. Shall we then fear, lest that should come to pass, Which comes to pass each moment of our lives? If fear we must, let that death turn us pale, Which murders strength and ardor; what remains Should rather call on death, than dread his call. We partners of my fault, and my decline! Thought Leſs of death, but when your neighbour's knell knocks hard at your dull scene, And with its thunder scare obtains your ear! Bee death your theme, in every place and hour; Nor loager want, ye monumental Sires! A brothers tomb to tell you you shall die. That death, fear, is nature's skill! See, know, you shall court, before you shall enjoy. But you are learned; in volumes, deep you fit; In wisdom, shallow: Pompous ignorance! You would you be still more learned, than the lead? Learn well to know how much need not be known, And what that knowledge, which impairs your sense. Our needful knowledge, like our needful food, Unhedged, lies open in life's common field; And bids all welcome to the vital feast. You scorn what lies before you in the page Of nature, and experience, moral truth; Of indigestible, eternal fruit; Fruit, on which mortals feeding, turn to gods: And dive in science for distinguishing names, Dishonesty fomentation of your pride; Sinking in virtue, as you rise in fame. Your Are, like the lunar beam, Light, but not heat; it leaves you undevout, Frozen at heart, while speculation shines. Awake, ye curious indagators! fond Of knowing all, but what avails you, known. If you would learn death's character, attend, All causes of conduct, all degrees of health, All dies of fortune, and all dates of life Together shook in his impartial urn, Come forth at random: Or if choice is made, The choice is quite far caustic, and infults All bold conjecture, and fond hopes of man. What countless multitudes, not only leave, But deeply disappear. Point us, by their deaths! The great our sorrow, greater our surprise. Like other tyrants, death delights to smile, What, smitten, most proclaims the pride of power, Angling nod. If joys To Me Thine, Naxcissa! Virtue, not rolling suns, the mind matures, And opens more the charader of death, Ill known to thee, Loxenzo! This thy vaunt. Give death his due, the wretched, and the old; Even let him weep his rubbish to the grave; Even let him weep his rubbish to the grave; Death took swift vengeance. As he life ene, The Complement. Night 8. To bid the wretch survive the fortunate; The feeble wrap the athletic-in his shroud; And weeping fathers build their children's tomb: That life is long, which answers life's great end. The time that bears no fruit, deserves no name: The man of wisdom is the man of years. In hoary youth, YnHUsALEMS may die; O how misdirected on their flatt ring tombs! Nax cissA's youth has leaped me thus far, And can her gaiety give counsel too? That, like the Jews famed oracle of gems, Sp arkles instruction; such as throws new e Let him not violate kind nature's laws, But own-man born to live, as well as die. Wretched and old thou give him; young, and, ga) He takes; and plunder is a tyrant's joy. What if I prove, The farthest from far Are often-nearest to the frock of Fate? All, more than common, menaces an end. A blaze betokens brevity of life: As if bright embers should emit a flame, Glad spirits sparkled from Nature's eye. And made youth younger, and taught life to live. As nature's opposites wage endless war, For this offense, as treason to the deep Inviolable spirit of his reign. Where, and turbulent ambition, leep; What the short way date? The R. Ars. More life is still more odious; and, reduced By conquest, aggrandizes more his power. But wherefore aggrandiz d? By heaven's decree, To plant the soul on her eternal guard, In aweful expectation of our end. Thus runs death's dread commillion: Strike, but so, As most alarms the living by the dead. Hence stratagem delights him, and surprise, And cruel sport with man's securities. Not simple conquest, triumph is his aim; And, where least feared, there conquest triumphs most: This proves my bold assertion not too bold. What are His arts to lay our fears a sleep? Tiberian arts his purposes wrap up In deep disuse. In the darkeſt night, like princes, unconfeſt in foreign courts, Who travel under cover, death assumes The name and look of life, and dwells among us. He takes all shapes that serve his black design: Tho' master of a wider empire far Than that, over which the Roman eagle flew; Like Nero, he's a fidler, character, Or drives his phaeton, in female guise; Quite unspoiled, till the wheel beneath, His disarrayed oblation he devours. He most affects the forms least like himself, Is slender self. Hence burly corpulence Is his familiar wear, and sleek disguise. Behind the roſy bloom he loves to lurk, Or ambuſh in a ſmile ; or wanton dive | In dimples deep; love's eddies, which draw in Unwary hearts, and fink them in deſpair. ; Such, on NaRcissA's couch, he loiter d long Unknows ; and, when detected, füll warden 118 The CoMurLAIN T. Nights. To fmile ; ſuch: peace has innocence in death! Moſt happy they! whom leaft his arts deceive. One eye on death, and one full fix d on heay' we | Becomes a mortal, and immortal ma. Long on his wiles a piqu'd and jealous ſpy, I've ſeen, or dreamt I ſaw, the tyrant dre; Lay by his hortors, and put on his ſmiles. Say, muſe, for thou remember'ft, call it back, And ſhew Loxenzo the ſurpriſing ſcene; If *twas a dream, his genius can explain. "Twas in a circle of the gay I ſtood. Death would haveenter'd! Nature puſht him back; Supported by a doctor of renown, | His point he gain d. Then artfully dit, The ſage; for death deſign d to be conceal 11. He gave an old vivacious f, r N His meagre aſpect, and his naked "DIY 35 In gratitude for plumping up his prey, A pamper'd /pendthrift ; whoſe fantaſtic air, Well-faſhioned figure; and cockaded brow, He took in change, and underneath the pride Of coſtly linen, tuck dd his filthy ſhroud, His crooked bow he ftraiten'd to a cane; And hid his deadly ſhafts in MyxAs eye. The dreadful maſquerader, thus equipt, Out ſallies on adventures. Aſk you where? Where is he not? For his peculiar haunts, Let 2his ſuffice; ſure as night follows day,. Death treads in pleaſure's footſteps round the world, When pleaſure treads the paths, which renſan ſhuns. 1 When, againſt reaſan, riot ſhuts Oy 8 And gazety ſupplies the place of ſenſee, Then, foremoſt at the banquet, and the ball, Death leadsthe dane, or ſtamps the deadly e No 0 v> 5 or \ The RE LATSE. 11 Nor ever falls the midnight bowl to crown. | Gaily carouſing to his gay compeers, Inly he laughs, to ſee them laugh at him, As abſent far: And when the revel burns; When fear is baniſbt, and triumphant thought, Calling for all the joys beneath the moon, | Againſt him turns the key; and bids him ſup With their progenitors—He drops his maſk ; Frowns out at full; they ſtarr, deſpair, expire. | Scarce with more ſudden terror and ſurprize, From his black maſque of nitre, toueh'd by fire, He burſts, expands, roars, blazes, and devours. And is not this triumphant treachery, And more than ſimple conqueſt, in the fiend? And now, LoxEnzo, doſt thou I thy foul ſoft ſecurity, becauſe unknown Which moment is commiſſion d to deftroy ? In death's uncertainty thy danger lies. Is death uncertain? Therefore Thou be fixt ; Fixt as a centinel, all eye, all ear, All expectation of the coming foe: _ _ Rouſe, ſtand in arms, nor lean againſt thy ſpear ; L.eſt ſlumber ſteal one moment o'er thy ſoul, And fate ſurpriſe thee nodding. Watch, be ſtrong ; 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 moſt) Hide too from Thee the precious e of life. | Early, not ſudden, was Naxcissa's fate. Soon, not ſurpriſing, death his viſit paid. Her thought went forth to meet him on his way, Nor gate forgot it was to die. Though fortune too (our third and final theme), As an accomplice, played her gaudy plumes, And every glittering gewgaw, on her brow, To dazzle, and debauch it from its mark. Death's dreadful advent is the mark of man; And every thought that miseries it, is blind. Fortune, with youth and gaiety, conspired To weave a triple wreath of happiness. (If happiness on earth) to crown her brow. And could death charge through such a shining shield? That shining shield invites the tyrant's gaze As if to damp our elevated aims, And strongly preach humility to man. O how portentous is prosperity!! How, comet-like, it threatens, while it shines! Few years but yield us proof of death's ambition, To cull his victims from the fairest fold, And sheath his shafts in all the pride of life. When flooded with abundance, purpled over With recent honors, bloomed with every bliss, Bet up in estimation, made the gaze, The gaudy centre, of the public eye, When fortune thus has to bless her child in air, Snatch from the covert of an humble sphere. Gathering, how often have I seen him dropt at once, Our morning's envy! and our evening's sigh! As if her bounties were the signal given, The flowery wreath to mark the sacrifice, And call death's arrows on the hidden prey. High fortune seems in cruel league with fate, A kiss you for what? To give his war on man, The deeper dread, and more illustrious spoil; Thus to keep daring mortals more in awe. And burns Loxenzo till for the sublime Of life? to hang his airy nest on high, On the timber of the topmost bough, Our flame is cranberry, and content our scorn. Ambition turns, and shuts the door against her, Of fortune fond! as thoughtless of thy fate! As late I drew death's picture, to stir up All, ardent, eye each wafture of her hand, Granting grim death at equal distance there; Yet peace begins just where ambition ends. What makes man wretched? Happiness denies. Loxenzo! no: Lis happiness disdain'd. She comes too meanly drear to win our smile; And calls herself Content, a homely name! And weds a vil, a tempest, in her stead; A tempest to warm transport near of kin. Unknou ing what our mortal state we Life's modest joys we ruin, while we raze; And all our secrets are wounds to peace; Peace, the full portion of mankind below. And since thy peace is dear, ambitious vain. Thy wholehearted fears; now, drawn in contrast, see Gay fortune's, Thy vain hopes to reprimand. See, high in air, the sportive gods hangs, Unlocks her caustic, spreads her glitt ring ware, And calls the giddy winds to puff abroad Her random bounties over the gaping throng. All ruth rapacious; friends o'er trodden friends; Sons o'er their fathers, subjects o'er their kings, Priezes o'er their gods, and lovers o'er the fair, Still wore ador'd to snatch the golden shower. Gold glitters most, where virtue shines no more; As stars from absent seasons have leave to shine. 