Haft thou ne'er heard of Time's omnipotence? And will: To ftand blank neuter he difdains. 195 Not on those terms was Time (heaven's ftranger!) sent On his important embaffy to man. Lorenzo! no: On the long-destin'd hour, 200 From everlasting ages growing ripe, That memorable hour of wondrous birth, When the Dread Sire, on emanation bent, Was Time cut off, and caft beneath the skies; 205 210 Hours, days, and months, and years, his children, play, Like numerous wings around him, as he flies: Or, rather, as unequal plumes, they shape His ample pinions, fwift as darted flame, In his immutability to neft, 215 When worlds, that count his circles nou, unhing'd 220 (Fate the loud fignal founding) headlong rufh To timeless night and chaos, whence they rofe. Know' 230 Know'st thou, or what thou dost, or what is done? 225 Favonius breathe ftill fofter, or be chid; 235 240 And other worlds fend odours, fauce, and fong, And robes, and notions, fram'd in foreign looms! 249 One moment unamus'd, a misery Not made for feeble man! who call aloud For change of follies, and relays of joy, 250 How How will you weather an eternal night, Where fuch expedients fail? -255 O treacherous Confcience! while fhe feems to fleep On rofe and myrtle, lull'd with fyren fong; While the feems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop And give us up to licence, unrecall'd, 260 And her dread diary with horror fills. 265 A watchful foe! the formidable spy, Liftening, o'erhears the whifpers of our camp: As all-rapacious ufurers conceal Their doomsday-book from all-confuming heirs; Unnoted, notes each moment misapply'd; In leaves more durable than leaves of brafs 270 275 289 But But why on Time fo lavifh is my fong? 285 290 Is Suicide, where more than Blood is spilt. More than creation labours!-labours more? 295 Man fleeps; and Man alone; and Man, whofe fate,' Endless, hair-hung, breeze-fhaken, o'er the gulph 300 Of this furrounding ftorm! and yet he fleeps, The period past, re-give the given hour. Such is the language of the man awake; 310 And And is his ardour vain, Lorenzo? No That more than miracle the gods indulge; 315 To-day is Yesterday return'd; return'd Full power'd to cancel, expiate, raise, adorn, 1 Let it not share its predeceffor's fate; Nor, like its elder fifters, die a fool. Shall it evaporate in fume? fly off Shall we be poorer for the plenty pour'd? More wretched for the clemencies of heaven ? 320 330 Where fhall I find Him? Angels! tell me where. 325 You know him: He is near you: Point him out: Shall I fee glories beaming from his brow? Or trace his footsteps by the rifing flowers? Your golden wings, now hovering o'er him, fhed Protection; now, are waving in applause To that bleft fon of forefight! lord of fate! That awful independent on To-morrow ! Whofe work is done; who triumphs in the Paft; Whofe Yesterdays look backwards with a smile Nor, like the Parthian, wound him as they fly; That common, but opprobrious lot! past hours, If not by guilt, yet wound us by their flight, If folly bounds our profpect by the grave, 335 All feeling of futurity benumb'd; All god-like paffion for eternals quencht; 340 All relish of realities expir'd; Renounc'd all correspondence with the skies; Our freedom chain'd; quite wingless our defire; |