A moment, and the world 's blown up to thee;
The fun is darkness, and the stars are duft.
'Tis greatly wife to talk with our past hours; And ask them, what report they bore to heaven; And how they might have borne more welcome news. Their answers form what men Experience call;
If Wisdom's friend, her beft; if not, worst foe.
O reconcile them! Kind Experience cries,
"There's nothing here, but what as nothing weighs;
The more our joy, the more we know it vain;
And by fuccefs are tutor'd to defpair."
Nor is it only thus, but must be so.
Who knows not this, though grey, is ftill a child.
Loofe then from earth the grafp of fond defire,
Weigh anchor, and fome happier clime explore.
Art thou fo moor'd thou canst not difengage,
Nor give thy thoughts a ply to future scenes?
Since, by Life's paffing breath, blown up from earth,
Light, as the fummer's duft, we take in air
A moment's giddy flight, and fall again;
Join the dull mafs, increase the trodden foil,
And fleep, till earth herself shall be no more;
Since then (as emmets, their small world o'erthrown)
We, fore amaz'd, from out earth's ruins crawl,
And rife to fate extreme of foul or fair,
As man's own choice (controuler of the skies!)
As man's defpotic will, perhaps one hour,
(O how omnipotent is time!) decrees ;
Should not each warning give a strong alarm?
Warning, far less than that of bofom torn
From bofom, bleeding o'er the facred dead!
Should not each dial strike us as we pafs,
Portentous, as the written wall, which struck,
O'er midnight bowls, the proud Affyrian pale,
Ere-while high-flusht with infolence and wine?
Like that, the dial speaks; and points to thee,
Lorenzo! loth to break thy banquet up:
"O man, thy kingdom is departing from thee;
"And, while it lafts, is emptier than my shade."
Its filent language fuch: nor need'st thou call
Thy Magi, to decypher what it means.
Know, like the Median, fate is in thy walls :
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Doft afk, How? Whence? Belshazzar-like, amaz'd ?
Man's make inclofes the fure feeds of death;
Life feeds the murderer: Ingrate! he thrives
On her own meal, and then his nurse devours.
But here, Lorenzo, the delufion lies;
That folar fhadow, as it meafures life,
It life refembles too: life fpeeds away
From point to point, though seeming to stand still.
The cunning fugitive is fwift by stealth:
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, time:
As thefe are ufelefs when the fun is fet :
So thofe, but when more glorious Reason fhines.
Reafon fhould judge in all; in reason's eye,
That fedentary fhadow travels hard.
But fuch our gravitation to the wrong,
So prone our hearts to whisper what we wish,
'Tis later with the wife than he's aware:
A Wilmington goes flower than the fun :
And all mankind mistake their time of day;
Ev'n age itself. Fresh hopes are hourly sown
In furrow'd brows. To gentle life's descent
We shut our eyes, and think it is a plain.
We take fair days in winter, for the spring;
And turn our bleffings into bane. Since oft
Man must compute that age he cannot feel,
He scarce believes he 's older for his years.
Thus, at life's latest eve, we keep in store
One difappointment fure, to crown the reft;
The disappointment of a promis'd hour.
On This, or fimilar, Philander! thou
Whofe mind was moral, as the preacher's tongue;
And strong, to wield all science, worth the name
How often we talk'd down the fummer's fun,
And cool'd our paffions by the breezy stream!
How often thaw'd and fhorten'd winter's eve,
By confli& kind, that struck out latent truth,
Beft found, fo fought; to the Reclufe more coy!
Thoughts disentangle paffing o'er the lip;
Clean runs the thread; if not, 'tis thrown away,
Or kept to tie up nonfenfe for a fong;
Song, fashionably fruitless; such as stains
The Fancy, and unhallow'd Passion fires;
Chiming her faints to Cytherea's fane.
Know'ft thou, Lorenzo! what a friend contains?
As bees mixt Nectar draw from fragrant flowers,
So men from Friendship, Wisdom and Delight;
Twins ty'd by nature, if they part, they die.
Haft thou no friend to fet thy mind abroach?
Good Senfe will ftagnate. Thoughts fhut up want air,
And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the fun.
Had thought been all, sweet speech had been deny'd;
Speech, thought's canal! fpeech, thought's criterion too!
Thought in the mine, may come forth gold, or drofs; 470
When coin'd in word, we know its real worth.
If sterling, store it for thy future use;
'Twill buy thee benefit; perhaps, renown.
Thought, too, deliver'd, is the more poffeft;
Teaching, we learn; and, giving, we retain
The births of intellect; when dumb, forgot.
Speech ventilates our intellectual fire;
Speech burnishes our mental magazine;
Brightens, for ornament; and whets, for ufe.
What numbers, sheath'd in erudition, lie,
Flung'd to the hilts in venerable tomes,
And rufted in; who might have borne an edge,
And play'd a sprightly beam, if born to speech;
If born bleft heirs of half their mother's tongue!
'Tis thought's exchange, which, like th' alternate
Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned scum,
And defecates the ftudent's ftanding pool.
In Contemplation is his proud refource?
'Tis poor, as proud, by Converse unfustain’d.
Rude thought runs wild in Contemplation's field; 490 Converse, the menage, breaks it to the bit
Of due restraint; and emulation's spur
Gives graceful energy, by rivals aw'd.
'Tis converfe qualifies for folitude;
As excrcife, for falutary rest.
By that untutor'd, Contemplation raves ;
And Nature's fool, by Wisdom is undone.
Wisdom, though richer than Peruvian mines,
And fweeter than the sweet ambrofial hive,
What is fhe, but the means of Happiness?
That unobtain'd, than folly more a fool;
A melancholy fool, without her bells.
Friendship, the means of wisdom, richly gives
The precious end, which makes our wisdom wife.
Nature, in zeal for human amity,
Denies, or damps, an undivided joy.
Joy is an import; joy is an exchange;
Joy flies monopolifts: it calls for Two;
Rich fruit! heaven-planted! never pluckt by One.
Needful anxiliars are our friends, to give
To focial man true relish of himself.
Full on ourselves, defcending in a line,
Pleafure's bright beam is feeble in delight:
Delight intense is taken by rebound;
Reverberated pleasures fire the breast.
Celeftial Happiness, whene'er fhe ftoops
To vifit earth, one fhrine the goddess finds,
And one alone, to make her sweet amends
For abfent heaven-the bofom of a friend;
Where heart meets heart, reciprocally soft,
Each other's pillow to repofe divine.
Beware the counterfeit; in Paffion's flame
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