Life, Death, and Immortality.
To the RIGHT HONOURABLE
ARTHUR ONS LOW, Efq,
SPEAKER of the HOUSE of COMMONS.
IR'D Nature's fweet Reftorer, balmy Sleep!
He, like the World, his ready Vifit pays
Where Fortune fmiles; the Wretched he forfakes:
Swift on his downy Pinions flies from Woe,
And lights on Lids unfully'd with a Tear.
From fhort (as usual) and disturb'd Repose,
I wake; How happy they, who wake no more!
Yet that were vain, if Dreams infest the Grave.
I wake, emerging from a Sea of Dreams
Tumultuous; where my wreck'd defponding Thought,
From Wave to Wave of fanfy'd Mifery,
At Random drove, her Helm of Reason loft:
Tho' now restor'd, 'tis only Change of Pain,
(A bitter Change!) feverer for severe.
The Day too fhort for my Diftrefs; and Night,
Ev'n in the Zenith of her dark Domain,
Is Sunshine, to the Colour of my Fate.
Night, fable Goddess! from her Ebon Throne,
In rayless Majefty, now ftretches forth
Her leaden Sceptre o'er a flumb'ring World.
Silence, how dead! and Darkness, how profound!
Nor Eye, nor lift'ning Ear, an Object finds;
Creation fleeps. 'Tis as the gen❜ral Pulse
Of Life stood still, and Nature made a Pause;
An awful Pause! prophetic of her End.
And let her Prophecy be foon fulfill'd :
Fate! drop the Curtain; I can lose no more.
Silence and Darkness! folemn Sisters! Twins
From ancient Night, who nurse the tender Thought
To Reafon, and on Reafon build Refolve,
(That Column of true Majesty in Man)
Affift me: I will thank you in the Grave;
The Grave, your Kingdom: There this Frame fhall fall
A Victim facred to your dreary Shrine.
THOU, who didst put to Flight Primæval Silence, when the Morning Stars, Exulting, fhouted o'er the rifing Ball;
O THOU, whofe Word from folid Darkness ftruck
That Spark, the Sun, ftrike Wisdom from my Soul;
My Soul, which flies to Thee, her Truft, her Treasure,
As Mifers to their Gold, while others rest.
Thro' this Opaque of Nature, and of Soul,
This double Night, tranfmit one pitying Ray,
To lighten, and to chear. O lead my Mind,
(A Mind that fain would wander from its Woe)
Lead it thro' various Scenes of Life and Death ;
And from each Scene, the nobleft Truths infpire.
Nor lefs infpire my Conduct, than my Song;
Teach my best Reason, Reason; my best Will
Teach Rectitude; and fix my firm Refolve
Wisdom to wed, and pay her long Arrear :
Nor let the Phial of thy Vengeance, pour'd
On this devoted Head, be pour'd in vain.
The Bell ftrikes One. But from its Lofs.
Is wife in Man.
We take no Note of Time,
To give it then a Tongue,
As if an. Angel spoke,
I feel the folemn Sound. If heard aright,
It is the Knell of my departed Hours:
Where are they? With the Years beyond the Flood.
It is the Signal that demands Difpatch:
How much is to be done? My Hopes and Fears
Start
up alarm'd, and o'er Life's narrow Verge
Look down-On what? A fathomless Abyss;
A dread Eternity! how furely mine!
And can Eternity belong to me,
Poor Penfioner on the Bounties of an Hour?
How poor, how rich, how abject, how auguft,
How complicate, how wonderful, is Man!
How paffing Wonder HE, who made him fuch!
Who centred in our Make fuch strange Extremes !
From diff'rent Natures marvelously mixt,
Connexion exquifite of distant Worlds!
Diftinguifht Link in Being's endless Chain!
Midway from Nothing to the Deity!
A Beam ethereal, fully'd, and abforpt!
Tho' fully'd, and dishonour'd, still Divine!
Dim Miniature of Greatnefs abfolute !
An Heir of Glory! A frail Child of Dust!
Helpless Immortal! Infect infinite!
A Worm! a God! -I tremble at myself,
And in myself am loft! At home, a Stranger,
Thought wanders up and down, furpriz'd, aghaft,
And wond'ring at her own: How Reason reels!
O what a Miracle to Man is Man,
Triumphantly diftrefs'd! what Joy, what Dread!
Alternately Tranfported, and Alarm'd!
What can preserve my Life? or what destroy?
An Angel's Arm can't snatch me from the Grave?
Legions of Angels can't confine me there.
'Tis past Conjecture; all things rife in Proof:
While o'er my Limbs Sleep's foft Dominion fpread,
What tho' my Soul phantastic Measures trod
O'er fairy Fields; or mourn'd along the Gloom
Of pathlefs Woods; or down the craggy Steep
Hurl'd headlong, fwam with Pain the mantled Pool;
Or fcal'd the Cliff; or danc'd on hollow Winds,
With antic Shapes, wild Natives of the Brain?
Her ceaseless Flight, tho' devious, fpeaks her Nature
Of fubtler Effence than the trodden Clod;
Active, aëreal, tow'ring, unconfin'd,
Unfetter'd with her grofs Companion's Fall.
Ev'n filent Night proclaims my Soul immortal:
Ev'n filent Night proclaims eternal Day.
For human Weal, Heav'n husbands all Events:
Dull Sleep inftructs, nor fport vain Dreams in vain.
Why then their Lofs deplore, that are not loft?
Why wanders wretched Thought their Tombs around,
In infidel Distress? Are Angels there?
Slumbers, rak'd up in Duft, Ethereal Fire?
They live! they greatly live a Life on Earth
Unkindled, unconceiv'd; and from an Eye
Of Tenderness, let heav'nly Pity fall
On me, more justly number'd with the Dead.
This is the Defart, this the Solitude:
How populous! how vital, is the Grave!
This is Creation's melancholy Vault,
The Vale funereal, the fad Cypress Gloom;
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