Life, Death, and Immortality.
To the RIGHT HONOURABLE
ARTHUR ONSLOW, 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 forfakest
Swift on his downy Pinions flies from Woe,
And lights on Lids unfully'd with a Tear.
From fhort (as ufual) and disturb'd Repose,
I wake: How happy they, who wake no more!
Yet that were vain, if Dreams infeft 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 Reafon loft:
Tho' now restored, '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 Sunfhine, to the Colour of my Fate.
Night, fable Goddess! from her Ebon Throne,
In raylefs 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 ftood ftill, and Nature made a Paufe;
An aweful Paufe! prophetic of her End.
And let her Prophecy be foon fulfill'd:
Fate! drop the Curtain; I can lofe no more.
Silence and Darkness! folemn Sifters! Twins
From antient Night, who nurfe the tender Thought
To Reafon, and on Reafon build Refolve,
(That Column of true Majefty 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 didft put to Flight Primæval Silence, when the Morning Stars, Exulting, fhouted o'er the rifing Ball;
O THOU, whofe Word from folid Darkness struck
That Spark, the Sun, frike Wifdom from my Soul;
My Soul, which flies to Thee, her Truft, her Treasure,
As Mifers to their Gold, while others reft.
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 inspire.
Nor lefs infpire my Conduct, than my Song;
Teach my best Reason, Reason; my best Will
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 ftrikes One. We take no Note of Time,
But from its Lofs. To give it then a Tongue,
Is wife in Man. As if an Angel fpoke,
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 fathomlefs 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 H E, who made him fuch?
Who centred in our Make fuch ftrange Extremes ?
From diff'rent Natures marvelously mixt,
Connexion exquifite of diftant Worlds!
Diftinguifht 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 Duft!
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, aghast,
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 preferve my Life? or what destroy?
An Angel's Arm can't fnatch me from the Grave;
Legions of Angels can't confine me there.
'Tis paft Conjecture; all things rife in Proof:
While o'er my Limbs Sleep's foft Dominion spread,
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 ceaseless Flight, tho' devious, speaks 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 hufbands 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 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 Tendernefs, let heav'nly Pity fall
On me, more justly number'd with the Dead.
This is the Defert, 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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