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What can preserve my Life? or what deftroy?
An Angel's Arm can't fnatch me from the Grave;
Legions of Angels can't confine me there.

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'Tis paft Conjecture; all things rife in Proof: While o'er my Limbs Sleep's foft Dominion fpread, What tho' my Soul phantaftic 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 ceafelefs Flight, tho' devious, fpeaks her Nature Of fubtler Effence than the trodden Clod; Active, aërial, tow'ring, unconfin'd, Unfetter'd with her grofs Companion's Fall. Ev'n Glent 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 lost? Why wanders wretched Thought their Tombs around In infidel Diftrefs? 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, det heav'nly Pity fall

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On me, more juftly 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;
The Land of Apparitions, empty Shades!
All, all on Earth is Shadow, all beyond
Is Subftance; the Reverse is Folly's Creed:
How folid all, where Change shall be no more?
This is the Bud of Being, the dim Dawn,
The Twilight of our Day, the Vestibule.
Life's Theatre as yet is fhut, and Death,
Strong Death, alone can heave the maffy Bar,
This grofs Impediment of Clay remove,
And make us Embryos of Existence free.
From real Life, but little more remote
Is He, not yet a Candidate for Light,
The future Embryo, flumb'ring in his Sire.
Embryos we must be, till we burst the Shell,
Yon ambient azure Shell, and fpring to Life,
The Life of Gods, O Tranfport! and of Man.

Yet Man, focl Man! bere buries all his Thoughts; Interrs celeftial Hopes without one Sigh.

Pris'ner of Earth, and pent beneath the Moon,
Here pinions all his Wifhes'; wing'd by Heav'n
To fly at Infinite; and reach it there,

Where

Where Seraphs gather Immortality,

On Life's fair Tree, faft by the Throne of God.
What golden Joys ambrofial cluft'ring glow,

In HIS full Beam, and ripen for the Juft,
Where momentary Ages are no more!

Where Time, and Pain, and Chance, and Death expire!
And is it in the Flight of three ore Years,
To push Eternity from human Thought,
And smother Souls immortal in the Duft?
A Soul immortal, fpending all her Fires,
Wafting her Strength in ftrenuous Idleness,
Thrown into Tumult, raptur'd, or alarm'd,
At aught this Scene can threaten, or indulge,
Refembles Ocean into Tempeft wrought,
To waft a Feather, or to drown a Fly.

Where falls this Cenfure? It o'erwhelms myself.
How was my Heart incrufted by the World!
O how felf-fetter'd was my grov'ling Soul!
How, like a Worm, was I wrapt round and sound
In filken Thought, which reptile Fancy fpun,
Till darken'd Reafon lay quite clouded o'er
With foft Conceit of endless Comfort here,
Nor yet put forth her Wings to reach the Skies!
Night-vifions may befriend (as fung above):
Our waking Dreams are fatal. How I dreamt
Of things impoffible? (Could Sleep do more?)

Of Joys perpetual in perpetual Change?
Of stable Pleasures on the toffing Wave?
Eternal Sunshine in the Storms of Life?
How richly were my noon-tide Trances hung
With gorgeous Tapestries of pictur'd Joys?
Joy behind Joy, in endless Perspective!
Till at Death's Toll, whofe reftless Iron Tongue
Calls daily for his Millions at a Meal,
Starting I woke, and found myself undone.
Where now my Phrenfy's pompous Furniture?
The cobweb'd Cottage, with its ragged Wall
Of mould'ring Mud, is Royalty to me!
The Spider's moft attenuated Thread
Is Cord, is Cable, to Man's tender Tie
On earthly Bliss; it breaks at ev'ry Breeze.

Oye blefs'd Scenes of permanent Delight!
Full, above Measure! lafting, beyond Bound!
A Perpetuity of Blifs is Blifs.

Could you, fo rich in Rapture, fear an End,
That ghaftly Thought would drink up all your Joy,
And quite unparadise the Realms of Light.

Safe are you lodg'd above these rolling Spheres ;
The baleful Influence of whofe giddy Dance

Sheds fad Viciffitude on all beneath.
Here teems with Revolutions every Hour;
And rarely for the better; or the best,

More

More mortal than the common Births of Fate.
Each Moment has its Sickle, emulous

Of Time's enormous Scythe, whofe ample Sweep
Strikes Empires from the Root; each Moment plays
His little Weapon in the narrower Sphere

Of fweet domeftic Comfort, and cuts down
The fairest Bloom of fublunary Bliss.

Blifs! fublunary Blifs!-Proud Words, and vain! Implicit Treafon to divine Decree!

A bold Invasion of the Rights of Heav'n!
I clafp'd the Phantoms,, and I found them Air.
O had I weigh'd it ere my fond Embrace!
What Darts of Agony had mifs'd my Heart!
Death! great Proprietor of All! 'tis thine
To tread out Empire, and to quench the Stars.
The Sun himself by thy Permiffion fhines;
And, one Day, thou fhalt pluck him from his Sphere.
Amid fuch mighty Plunder, why exhauft

Thy partial Quiver on a Mark fo mean?
Why thy peculiar Rancour wreak'd on me?
Infatiate Archer! could not One fuffice?

Thy Shaft flew thrice; and thrice my Peace was flain ;
And thrice, ere thrice yon Moon had fill'd her Horn.
O Cynthia! why fo pale? Doft thou lament
Thy wretched Neighbour? Grieve to fee thy Wheel
Of ceafelefs Change outwhirl'd in human Life?

How

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