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IR'D Nature's sweet Restorer, balmy Sleep!
He, like the World, his ready Visit pays
Where Fortune smiles; the Wretched he forsakesi
Swift on his downy Pinions flies from Woe,
And lights on Lids unsully'd with a Tear.
From short (as usi:al) and disturbid 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 desponding Thought, Froin Wave to Wave of fansy'd Misery, Ai Random drove, her lielm of Reason loft : Tho' now restored, 'tis only Change of Pain,
(A bitter Change!) feverer for severe.
The Day too short for my Distress; and Night,
Ev’n in the Zenith of her dark Domain,
Is Sunshine, to the Colour of
Night, sable Goddess ! from her Ebon Throne,
In rayless Majesty, now stretches forth
Her leaden Sceptre o'er a slumb'ring World.
Silence, how dead! and Darkness, how profound !
Nor Eye, nor lift’ning Ear, an Object finds;
Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the gen’ral Pulse
Of Life stood still, and Nature made a Pause;
An aweful Pause! prophetic of her End.
And let her Prophecy be soon fulfilld:
Fate! drop the Curtain ; I can lose no more.
Silence and Darkness ! solemn Sisters! Twins
From antient Night, who nurse the tender Thought
To Rca on, and on Reajon build Resolve,
(That Column of true Majesty in Man)
Afist me: I will thank you in the Grave ;
The Grave, your Kingdom : There this Frame shall fall
A Victim sacred to your dreary Shrine.
Bus what are Ye?-
THOU, who didst put to Flight
Primaval Silence, when the Morning Stars,
Exuiting, frouted o'er the rising Ball;
O THOU, whose Word from solid Darkness struck
'That Spark, the Sun, flrike Wisdom from my Soul;
My Soul, which flies to Thee, her 'Trust, her Treasure,
As Misers to their Gold, while others rest.
Thro' this Opaque of Nature, and of Soul,
This double Night, transmit 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 Scepes of Life and Death;
And from each Scene, the noblelt Truths inspire.
Nor less inspire my Conduci, than my Song ;
my best Reason, Reason; my best W'il! Teach Rectitude; and fix my
firm Resolve 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 strikes One. We take no Note of Time, But from its Lofs. To give it then a Tongue, Is wise in Man. As if an Angel spoke, I feel the solemn 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 Dispatch : How much is to be done? My Hopes and Fears Start
alarm’d, and o'er Life's narrow Verge
Look down-On what? A fathomless Abyss;
A dread Eternity! how surely 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 passing Wonder H E, who made him such?
Who centred in our Make such strange Extremes ?
From diff'rent Natures marvelously mixt,
Connexion exquisite of distant Worlds !
Distinguisht Link in Being's endless Chain !
Midway from Nothing to the Deity!
A Beam ethereal, fully'd, and absorpt !
Tho' fully'd, and dishonour'd, fill Divine !
Dim Miniature of Greatness abfolute !
An Heir of Glory! A frail Child of Dutt!
Helpless Immortal ! Infeet infinite !
A Worm! a God! I tremble at myself,
And in myself am loft! At home, a Stranger,
Thought wanders up and down, surpriz’d, aghaft,
And wond'ring at her own: How Reason reels !
what a Miracle to Man is Man,
Triumphantly distress’d! what Joy, what Dread !
Alternately Transported, and Alarmd !
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 palt Conjecture; all things rise in Proof:
While o'er my Limbs Sleep's foft Dominion 'spread,
What tho'my Soul phantastic Measures trod
O’er fairy Fields; or mourn'd along the Gloom
Of pathless Woods; or down the craggy Steep
Hurl'd headlong, fivam with Pain the mantled Pool;
Or scal'd the Cliff; or danc'd on hollow Winds,
With antic Shapes, wild Natives of the Brain ?
Her ceaseless Flight, tho' devious, speaks her Nature
Of subtler Essence than the trodden Clod;
Active, aëreal, tow'ring, unconfin'd,
Unsetter'd with her grofs Companion's Fall.
Ev'n filent Night proclaims my Soul immortal:
Ev'n filent Night proclaiins eternal Day.
For human Weal, Heav'n husbands all Events :
Dull Sleep infructs, nor sport vain Dreams in vain.
Why then their Loss deplore, that are not loft ?
Why wanders wretched Thought their Tombs around,
In infidel Distress ? Are Angels there?
up in Duit, 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 juftly number'd with the Dead.
This is the Desert, this the Solitude:
How populous ! how vital is the Grave!
This is Creation's melancholy Vault,
The Vale funereal, the sad Cypress Gloom ;