Ye fold to fenfe! ye citizens of earth! (For fuch alone the Christian banner fly)

795

Know ye how wise your choice, how great your gain? Behold the picture of earth's happiest man :

"He calls his wifh, it comes; he fends it back, "And fays, he call'd another; that arrives, "Meets the fame welcome; yet he still calls on; 800 “ Till one calls him, who varies not his call, "But holds him fast, in chains of darkness bound, “Till nature dies, and judgment sets him free; "A freedom far less welcome than his chain.”

But grant man happy; grant him happy long; 805 Add to life's highest prize her latest hour; That hour, fo late, is nimble in approach, That, like a post, comes on in full career:

810

How fwift the fhuttle flies, that weaves thy fhroud!
Where is the fable of thy former years?
Thrown down the gulph of time; as far from Thee
As they had ne'er been thine; the day in hand,
Like a bird ftruggling to get loofe, is going;
Scarce now poffefs'd, fo fuddenly 'tis gone;

And each swift moment fled, is death advanc'd

815

By strides as swift: Eternity is All;

And whose Eternity? Who triumphs there ?
Bathing for ever in the font of blifs!

For ever basking in the Deity!

Lorenzo! who?-Thy confcience shall reply.

820

O give it leave to speak; 't will speak ere long,

Thy leave unask'd: Lorenzo! hear it now,

While useful its advice, its accent mild.

By

92

Joys fhar'd by brute-creation, pride refents;
Pleafure embraces: Man would both enjoy,
And both at once: a point how hard to gain !
But, what can't wit, when itung by ftrong defire?
Wit dares attempt this arduous enterprize.
Since joys of fense can't rise to reason's taste
In fubtle fophiftry's laborious forge,

Wit hammers out a reafon new, that stoops
To fordid scenes, and meets them with applaufe.
Wit calls the graces the chafte zone to loofe;
Nor less than a plump god to fill the bowl:

25

30

A thousand phantoms, and a thousand spells,

A thousand opiates fcatters, to delude,

To fafcinate, inebriate, lay afleep,

And the fool'd mind delightfully confound.

35

Thus that which fhock'd the judgment, shocks no more;

That which gave pride offence, no more offends.
Pleafure and pride, by nature mortal foes,
At war eternal, which in man fhall reign,
By wit'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 blush
From nature's check, and bronzes every fhame.
Man fmiles in ruin, glories in his guilt,
And infamy ftands candidate for praise.

All writ by man in favour of the foul,
Thefe fenfual ethics far, in bulk, tranfcend.
The flowers of eloquence, profufely pour'd
O'er spotted vice, fill half the letter'd world.

40

45

50

Can

Can powers of genius exorcife their page,
And confecrate enormitics with fong?
But let not thefe inexpiable ftrains
Condemn the Mufe that knows her dignity;
Nor meanly ftops at time, but holds the world
As 'tis, in nature's ample field, a point,
A point in her esteem; from whence to start,
And run the round of universal space,

To vifit Being univerfal there,

55

And Being's Source, that utmost flight of mind!
Yet, fpite of this fo vaft circumference,

60

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 she speaks to prose, 65

Her younger fifter; haply, not more wife.

Think'ft thou, Lorenzo! to find pastimes here?
No guilty paffion blown into a flame,
No foible flatter'd, dignity difgrac'd,
No fairy field of fiction, all on flower,
No rainbow colours, here, or filken tale:

70

75

But folemn counfels, images of awe,
Truths, which eternity lets fall on man
With double weight, through these revolving fpheres,
This death-deep filence, and incumbent shade :
Thoughts, fuch as shall revisit your last hour;
Vifit uncall'd, and live when life expires;
And thy dark pencil, midnight! darker ftill
In melancholy dipt, embrowns the whole.

Yet this, even this, my laughter-loving friends! 80

Lorenzo !

Lorenzo and thy brothers of the fmile!
If, what imports you most, can most engage,
Shall fteal your ear, and chain you to my fong.
Or if you fail me, know, the wife shall tafte
The truths I fing; the truths I fing shall feel;
And, feeling, give affent; and their affent
Is ample recompence; is more than praife.
But chiefly thine, O Litchfield! nor mistake;
Think not un-introduc'd I force my way;
Narciffa, not unknown, not unally'd,
By virtue, or by blood, illuftrious youth!
To thee, from blooming amaranthine bowers,
Where all the language harmony, defcends
Uncall'd, and asks admittance for the Mufe:
A Mufe that will not pain thee with thy praise;
Thy praise the drops, by nobler still infpir'd.

O Thou! Bleft Spirit! whether the fupreme,
Great antemundane Father! in whofe breast
Embryo creation, unborn being, dwelt,
And all its various revolutions roll'd
Prefent, though future; prior to themselves;
Whofe breath can blow it into nought again;
Or, from his throne fome delegated power,
Who, ftudious of our peace, doft turn the thought
From vain and vile, to folid and fublime!

100

105

Unfeen thou lead'ft me to delicious draughts

Of inspiration, from a purer stream,

And fuller of the god, than that which burst
From fam'd 'Caftalia: nor is yet allay'd

My facred thirst; though long my foul has rang'd' 110

Through

Through pleafing paths of moral, and divine,
By thee fuftain'd, and lighted by the Stars.

By them best lighted are the paths of thought;
Nights are their days, their moft illumin'd hours.
By day, the foul, o'erborne by life's career,
Stunn'd by the din, and giddy with the glare,
Reels far from reason, jostled by the throng.
By day the foul is paffive, all her thoughts
Impos'd, precarious, broken ere mature.
By night, from objects free, from paffion cool,
Thoughts uncontrol'd, and unimprefs'd, 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.

Let Indians, and the gay, like Indians, fond
Of feather'd fopperies, the fun adore :

Darkness has more divinity for ine ;

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125

It strikes thought inward; it drives back the foul
To fettle on Herfelf, our point fupreme!

There lies our theatre! there fits our judge.
Darkness the curtain drops o'er life's dull fcene;
'Tis the kind hand of Providence ftretcht out
'Twixt man and vanity; 'tis reason's reign,
And virtue's too; these tutelary fhades
Are man's afylum frorn the tainted throng.
Night is the good man's friend, and guardian too;
It no lefs rescues virtue, than infpires.
Virtue, for ever frail, as fair, below,
Her tender nature fuffers in the croud,

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135

140

Nor