Unbit by rage canine of dying rich;
Guilt's blunder! and the loudeft laugh of hell.
O my coëvals! remnants of yourselves!
Poor human ruins, tottering o'er the grave!
Shall we, fhall aged men, like aged trees,
Strike deeper their vile root, and closer cling,
Still more enamour'd of this wretched foil?
Shall our pale, wither'd hands, be ftill ftretch'd out,
Trembling, at once, with eagerness and age?
With avarice and convulfions, grasping hard?
Grasping at air! for what has earth befide?
Man wants but little; nor that little, long;
How foon must he refign his very dust,
Which frugal nature lent him for an hour!
Years unexperienc'd rush on numerous ills;
And foon as man, expert from time, has found
The key of life, it opes the gates of death.
When in this vale of years I backward look,
And mifs fuch numbers, numbers too of fuch,
Firmer in health, and greener in their age,
And stricter on their guard, and fitter far,
To play life's fubtle game, I fcarce believe
I ftill furvive and am I fond of life,
Who fcarce can think it poffible, I live?
Alive by miracle! or, what is next,
Alive by Mead! if I am still alive,
Who long have bury'd what gives life to live,
Firmness of nerve, and energy of thought.
Life's lee is not more shallow, than impure,
And vapid; Sense and Reason fhew the door,
Call for my bier, and point me to the dust.
O thou great arbiter of life and death!
Nature's immortal, immaterial fun!
Whofe all-prolific beam late call'd me forth
From darkness, teeming darknefs, where I lay
The worm's inferior, and, in rank, beneath
The duft I tread on, high to bear my
To drink the spirit of the golden day,
And triumph in exiftence; and could know
No motive, but my blifs; and haft ordain'd
A rife in bleffing! with the Patriarch's joy,
Thy call I follow to the land unknown;
I truft in thee, and know in whom I truft;
Or life, or death, is equal; neither weighs:
All weight in this-O let me live to thee!
Though nature's terrors, thus, may be represt;
Still frowns grim Death; guilt points the tyrant's fpear.
And whence all human guilt? From death forgot.
Ah me! too long I fet at nought the fwarm
Of friendly warnings, which around me flew;
And smil'd, unfmitten: fmall my cause to fmile!
Death's admonitions, like fhafts upwards fhot,
More dreadful by delay, the longer ere
They ftrike our hearts, the deeper is their wound; 160
O think how deep, Lorenzo! here it ftings:
Who can appeafe its anguish? how it burns!
What hand the barb'd, invenom'd, thought can draw?
What healing hand can pour the balm of peace,
And turn my fight undaunted on the tomb?
F 2
With joy,—with grief, that healing hand I see; Ah! too confpicuous! it is fix'd on high.
On high? What means my phrenfy?. I blafpheme;
Alas! how low! how far beneath the skies!
The skies it form'd; and now it bleeds for me-
But bleeds the balm I want-yet still it bleeds;
Draw the dire steel-ah no! the dreadful bleffing
What heart or can sustain, or dares forego?
There hangs all human hope; that nail fupports
The falling univerfe: that gone, we drop;
Horror receives us, and the difmal wish
Creation had been fmother'd in her birth
Darkness his curtain, and his bed the dust;
When stars and fun are duft beneath his throne!
In heaven itself can fuch indulgence dwell?
O what a groan was there! a groan not His.
He feiz'd our dreadful right; the load fuftain'd;
And heav'd the mountain from a guilty world.
A thousand worlds, fo bought, were bought too dear; Senfations new in angels bofoms rife;
Sufpend their fong; and make a pause in bliss.
O for their fong; to reach my lofty theme!
Infpire me, Night! with all thy tuneful spheres ;
Whilft I with feraphs share seraphic themes,
And fhew to men the dignity of man;
Left I blafpheme my fubject with my fong.
Shall pagan pages glow celeftial flame,
And chriftian languish? on our hearts, not heads,
Falls the foul infamy: my heart! awake.
What can awake thee, unawak'd by this,
"Expended deity on human weal?"
Feel the great truths, which burst the tenfold night
Of heathen error, with a golden flood
Of endless day: to feel, is to be fir'd;
And to believe, Lorenzo! is to feel.
Thou moft indulgent, most tremendous Power!
Still more tremendous, for thy wondrous love!
That arms, which awe more aweful, thy commands;
And foul tranfgreffion dips in fevenfold night!
How our hearts tremble at thy love immenfe!
In love immenfe, inviolably juft!
Thou, rather than thy juftice fhould be ftain'd,
Didft ftain the Cross; and work of wonders far
The greatest, that thy dearest far might bleed.
Bold thought! fhall I dare speak it, or reprefs? 210
Should man more execrate, or boaft, the guilt
Which rous'd fuch vengeance? which fuch love inflam'd?
O'er guilt (how mountainous !) with cut-ftretch'd arms,
Stern juftice and foft-fmiling love embrace,
Supporting, in full majesty, thy throne,
When feem'd its majefty to need fupport,
Or that, or man, inevitably loft;
What, but the fathomlefs of thought divine,
Could labour fuch expedient from despair,
And rescue both? both refcue! both exalt!
O how are both exalted by the deed!
The wondrous deed! or fhall I call it more?
A wonder in Omnipotence itself!
A mystery no lefs to gods than men!
Not thus, our infidels th' Eternal draw,
A God all o'er, confummate, abfolute,
Full-orb'd, in his whole round of rays complete:
They fet at odds heaven's jarring attributes ;
And, with one excellence, another wound;
Maim heaven's perfection, break its equal beams, 230
Bid mercy triumph over-God himself,
Undeify'd by their opprobrious praise :
A God all mercy, is a God unjust.
Ye brainless wits! ye baptiz'd infidels!
Ye worse for mending! wash'd to fouler ftains!"
The ranfom was paid down; the fund of heaven,
Heaven's inexhaustible, exhausted fund,
Amazing, and amaz'd, pour'd forth the price,
All price beyond: though curious to compute,
Archangels fail'd to caft the mighty fum :
Its value vaft, ungrasp'd by minds create,
For ever hides, and glows, in the Supreme.
And was the ranfom paid? it was: and paid' (What can exalt the bounty more?) for you.
The fun beheld it-no, the fhocking scene
Drove back his chariot: Midnight veil'd his face;
Not fuch as this; not fuch as nature makes;
A midnight nature shudder'd to behold;
A midnight new! a dread eclipse (without
Oppofing spheres) from her Creator's frown!
Sun! didft thou fly thy Maker's pain? Or start
At that enormous load of human guilt,
Which bow'd his blessed head; o'erwhelm'd his cross ; Made groan the centre; burft earth's marble womb,
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