And when (the fhelter of thy wing implor'd) 'My fenfes, footh'd, shall fink in foft repose ; O fink this truth ftill deeper in my foul,

Suggested by my pillow, fign'd by fate, First in fate's volume, at the page of man.. "Man's fickly foul, tho' turn'd and toft for ever, "From fide to fide, can reft on nought but Thee :: "Here, in full truft; hereafter, in full joy;' On Thee, the promis'd, fure, eternal down 'Of spirits, toil'd in travel thro' this vale. Nor of that pillow fhall my foul defpond; • For-Love Almighty! Love Almighty! (fing, • Exult, creation!) Love Almighty, reigns! That death of death! that cordial of despair! And loud eternity's triumphant fong.

• Of whom, no more :-for, O thou Patron-God! Thou God, and mortal! thence more God to man Man's theme eternal! man's eternal theme!

• Thou canst not 'fcape uninjur'd from our praise. Uninjur'd from our praise can he escape,

Who, difembofom'd from the Father, bows

The heav'n of heav'ns, to kifs the distant earth;
Breathes out in agonies a finless foul;

Against the crofs, death's iron fceptre breaks !
From famifh'd ruin plucks her human prey!
• Throws wide the gates celeftial to his foes!
Their gratitude for fuch a boundless debt,
Deputes their fuff'ring brothers to receive;
And, if deep human guilt in payment fails;
As deeper guilt prohibits our defpair!
Enjoins it, as our duty, to rejoice!
And (to close all) omnipotently kind,

**Takes his delights among the fons of men."
What words are these? And did they come from
heav'n?

And were they spoke to man? to guilty man?
What are all myfteries to love like this?
The fongs of angels, all the melodies
Of choral gods are wafted in the found;

* Prov. Chap. viii.

Heal and exhilarate the broken heart,

Tho' plung'd, before, in horrors dark as night:
Rich prelibation of confummate joy!
Nor wait we diffolution to be blefs'd.

This final effort of the moral mufe,
How juftly titled! nor for me alone;
For all that read; what fpirit of fupport,
What heights of Confolation crown my song.

Then, farewell NIGHT! of darkness, now, no more;
Joy breaks; fhines; triumphs; 'tis eternal day.
Shall that which rifes out of nought complain
Of a few evils, paid with endless joys?
My foul, henceforth, in fweeteft union join
The two fupports of human happiness,

Which fome erroneous, think can never meet;
True taste of life, and conftant thought of death;
The thought of death, fole victor of its dread:
Hope be thy joy; and probity thy skill;
Thy patron He, whofe diadem has dropp'd
Yon gems of heav'n; eternity, thy prize:
And leave the racers of the world their own,
Their feather and their froth for endless toils :
They part with all for that which is not bread;
They mortify, they starve, on wealth, fame, power;
And laugh to fcorn the fools that aim at more.
How must a fpirit, lately escap'd from earth,
Suppofe Philander's, Lucia's, or Narciffa's,
The truth of things new-blazing in its eye,
Look back, aftonish'd on the ways of men,
Whofe lives whole drift is to forget their graves;
And when our prefent privilege is past,

To fcourge us with due fenfe of its abuse,
The fame aftonishment will feize us all.
What then must pain us, would preferve us now.
Lorenzo! 'tis not yet too late: Lorenzo !
Seize wisdom ere 'tis torment to be wife;
That is, feize wisdom, ere fhe feizes thee.
For what, my fmall philofopher, is hell?
'Tis nothing but full knowledge of the truth,

↑ The Confolation,

When truth, refifted long, is fworn our foe;
And calls Eternity to do her right.

Thus, darkness aiding intellectual light,
And facred filence whisp'ring truths divine,
And truths divine converting pain to peace,
My fong the midnight raven has outwing'd,
And fhot, ambitious of unbounded fcenes,
Beyond the flaming limits of the world,
Her gloomy flight. But what avails the flight
Of fancy, when our hearts remain below?
Virtue abounds in flatterers and foes;

'Tis pride to praise her; penance, to perform.
To more than words, to more than worth of tongue,
Lorenzo! rife, at this aufpicious hour;

An hour, when heav'n's most intimate with man';
When, like a falling ftar, the ray divine
Glides fwift into the bofom of the just ;
And just are all, determin'd to reclaim;
Which fets that title high, within thy reach.
Awake, then: thy Philander calls: awake!
Thou, who fhalt wake when the creation fleeps;
When, like a taper, all these funs expire ;
When Time, like him of Gaza in his wrath,
Plucking the pillars that fupport the world,
In nature's ample ruins lies entomb'd;
And Midnight, univerfal Midnight! reigns.

END OF NIGHT THOUGHTS.

VERSES TO THE AUTHOR.

NOW let the Atheist tremble, thou alone
Can't bid his confciòus heart the Godhead own.
Whom fhalt thou not reform? O thou haft feen
How God defcends to judge the fouls of men.
Thou heard'st the fentence how the guilty mourn,
Driv'n out from God, and never to return.

Yet more, behold ten thoufand thunders fall,
And fudden vengeance wrap the flaming ball.
When Nature funk, when ev'ry bolt was hurl'd,
Thou faw'ft the boundless ruins of the world.
When guilty Sodom felt the burning rain,
And fulphur fell on the devoted plain,
The Patriarch thus the fiery tempest past,
With pious horror view'd the defart waste;
The restless smoke ftill wav'd its curls around,
For ever rifing from the glowing ground."

But tell me, oh! what heav'nly pleafure, tell,
To think fo greatly, and describe so well!

How waft thou pleas'd the wond'rous theme to try,
And find the thought of man could rife so high?
Beyond this world the labour to pursue,
And open all eternity to view?

But thou art best delighted to rehearse
Heaven's holy dictates in exalted verse.

O thou haft power the harden'd heart to warm,
To grieve, to raise, to terrify, to charm;
To fix the foul on God; to teach the mind
To know the dignity of humankind;
By. ftricter rules well-govern'd life to scan,
And practise o'er the angel in the man.
Magd. Col.
Oxon.

T. WARTON.

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