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'But not on equal terms with other brutes; Their revels a more poignant relish yield, And safer too; they never poisons choose, Instinct than Reason makes more wholesome meals, And sends all-marring Murmur far away. For sensual life they best philosophize, Theirs that serene the sages sought in vain : 'Tis man alone expostulates with Heav'n: His all the pow'r, and all the cause to mourn. Shall human eyes alone dissolve in tears? And bleed in anguish none but human hearts? The wide-stretch'd realm of intellectual wo, Surpassing sensual far, is all our own, In life so fatally distinguish'd, why Cast in one lot, confounded, lump'd in death? Ere yet in being was mankind in guilt? Why thunder'd this peculiar clause against us, All-mortal, and all-wretched!-Have the skies Reasons of state their subjects may not scan, Nor humbly reason when they sorely sigh? All-mortal and all-wretched!-'Tis too much, Unparallel'd in Nature: 'tis too much, On being unrequested at thy hands, Omnipotent! for I see nought but power.

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And why see that? why thought! To toil and Then make our bed in darkness, needs no thought. What superfluities are reasoning souls!

Oh give eternity, or thought destroy.

But without thought our curse were half unfelt; Its blunted edge would spare the throbbing heart, And therefore 'tis bestow'd. I thank thee, Reason! For aiding life's too small calamities,

And giving being to the dread of death.

Such are thy bounties!-Was it then too much

For me to trespass on the brutal rights?

Too much for Heav'n to make one emmet more?
Too much for Chaos to permit my mass
A longer stay with essences unwrought,
Unfashion'd, untormented into man?
Wretched preferment to this round of pains!
Wretched capacity of frenzy, thought!
Wretched capacity of dying life!

Life, thought, worth, wisdom, all (O foul revolt!)
Once friends to peace, gone over to the foe.
'Death_then has chang'd its nature too.
Death!

Come to my bosom, thou best gift of Heav'n!
Best friend of man! since man is man no more.
Why in this thorny wilderness so long,

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Since there's no promis'd land's ambrosial bower
To pay me with its honey for my stings?
If needful to the selfish schemes of Heav'n
To sting us sore, why mock'd our misery?
Why this so sumptuous insult o'er our heads?
Why this illustrious canopy display'd?
Why so magnificently lodg'd Despair?
At stated periods, sure-returning, roll
These glorious orbs, that mortals may compute
Their length of labours and of pains, nor lose
Their misery's full measure ?-Smiles with flowers
And fruits promiscuous, ever-teeming earth,
That man may languish in luxurious scenes,
And in an Eden mourn his wither'd joys?
Claim earth and skies man's admiration, due
For such delights! bless'd animals! too wise
To wonder, and too happy to complain !

'Our doom decreed demands a mournful scene: Why not a dungeon dark for the condemn'd?

Why not the dragon's subterranean den
For man to howl in? why not his abode
Of the same dismal colour with his fate?
A Thebes, a Babylon, at vast expense
Of time, toil, treasure, art, for owls and adders
As congruous, as for man this lofty dome,

Which prompts proud thought, and kindles high
If from her humble chamber in the dust [desire;
While proud thought swells and high desire in-
flames,

The poor worm calls us for her inmates there,
And round us Death's inexorable hand

Draws the dark curtain close, undrawn no more.
'Undrawn no more!--Behind the cloud of death,
Once, I beheld a sun, a sun which gilt
That sable cloud, and turn'd it all to gold.
How the grave's alter'd! fathomless as hell!
A real hell to those who dreamt of Heav'n.
Annihilation! how it yawns before me;
Next moment I may drop from thought,from sense,
The privilege of angels, and of worms,
An outcast from existence; and this spirit,
This all-pervading, this all-conscious soul,
This particle of energy divine,

Which travels Nature, flies from star to star,
And visits gods, and emulates their powers,
For ever is extinguish'd. Horror! death!
Death of that death I fearless, once, survey'd―
When horror universal shall descend,

And heaven's dark concave urn all human race,
On that enormous, unrefunding tomb,
How just this verse; this monumental sigh!
"Beneath the lumber of demolish'd worlds,
Deep in the rubbish of the general wreck,
Swept ignominious to the common mass

Of matter, never dignified with life,
Here lie proud rationals; the sons of Heav'n!
The lords of Earth! the property of worms!
Beings of yesterday, and no to-morrow!
Who liv'd in terror, and in pangs expir'd!
All gone to rot in chaos, or to make
Their happy transit into blocks or brutes,
Nor longer sully their Creator's name."'

Lorenzo! hear, pause, ponder, and pronounce.

Just is this history? If such is man,

Mankind's historian, though divine, might weep.

Young.

REFLECTIONS ON A FUTURE STATE FROM A REVIEW OF WINTER.

"Tis done! dread Winter spreads his latest glooms, And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd Year. How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!

How dumb the tuneful! horror wide extends
His desolate domain. Behold, fond man!
See here thy pictur'd life: pass some few years,
Thy flowering Spring,thy Summer's ardent strength,
Thy sober Autumn fading into age,

And pale concluding Winter comes at last,
And shuts the scene. Ah! whither now are fled
Those dreams of greatness? those unsolid hopes
Of happiness? those longings after fame?
Those restless cares? those busy bustling days?
Those gay-spent, festive nights? those veering
thoughts,

Lost between good and ill, that shar'd thy life?
All now are vanish'd! Virtue sole survives,
Immortal never-failing friend of man,

His guide to happiness on high. And see!
"Tis come, the glorious morn; the second birth
Of heaven, and earth! awakening Nature hears
The new-creating word, and starts to life,
In every heighten'd form, from pain and death
For ever free. The great eternal scheme,
Involving all, and in a perfect whole
Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads,
To reason's eye refin'd clears up apace.
Ye vainly wise! ye blind presumptuous! now,
Confounded in the dust, adore that Power
And Wisdom oft arraign'd: see now the cause,
Why unassuming worth in secret liv'd,
And died, neglected: why the good man's share
In life was gall and bitterness of soul:
Why the lone widow and her orphans pin'd
In starving solitude; while luxury,

In palaces, lay straining her low thought,
To form unreal wants: why heaven-born truth,
And moderation fair, wore the red marks
Of superstition's scourge: why licens'd pain,
That cruel spoiler, that embosom'd foe,
Embitter'd all our bliss. Ye good distress'd!
Ye noble few! who here unbending stand
Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up a while,
And what your bounded view, which only saw
A little part, deem'd evil is no more:
The storms of wintry time will quickly pass,
And one unbounded Spring encircle all.

Thomson.

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