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Where seraph's gather immortality.

140
On Life's fair tree fast by the throne of God,
What golden joys ambrosial clustering glow
In His full beam, and ripen for the just,
Where momentary ages are no more !
Where Time, and Pain, and Chance, and Death expire!
And is it in the flight of threescore years

146
To push eternity from human thought,
And smother souls immortal in the dust ?
A soul immortal, spending all her fires,
Wasting her strength in strenuous ioleness,

150
Thrown into tumult, raptured, or alarm’d
At aught this scene can threaten or induige,
Resembles ocean into tempest wrought,
To waft a feather or to drown a fly.

Where falls this censure? it o’erwhelms myself;
How was my heart instructed by the world! 156
O how self-fetter'd was my grovelling soul !
How like a worm, was I wrapp'd round and round
In silken thought, which reptile Fancy spun,
Till darken'd Reason lay quite clouded o'er 160
With soft conceit of endless comfort here,
Nor yet put forth her wings to reach the skies!

Night visions may befriend (as sung above :)
Our waking dreams are fatal. How I dream'd,
Of things impossible! (could sleep do more ?) 165
Of joys perpetual in perpetual change !
Of stable pleasures on the tossing wave;
Eternal sunshine in the storms of life !
How richly were my noontidê tranccs hung
With gorgeous tapestries of pictured joys, 170
Joy behind joy, in endless pérspective :
Till at Death's toll, whose restless iron tongue
Calls daily for his millions at a meal,
Starting I woke, arid found myself undone.
Where now my frenzy's pompous furniture?

175
The cobwob'd cottage, with its ragged wall
Of mouldering mud, is royalty to me;

The spider's most attenuated thread
Is cord, is cable, to inan's tender tie
On earthly bliss: it breaks at every brecze. 480

Oye bless'd scenes of permanent delight !
Full above measure ! lasting beyond bound !
A perpetuity of bliss is bliss.
Could you, so rich in rapturc, fear an end,
That ghastly thought would drink up all your joy,
And quite unparadise the realms of light.

180
Safe are you lodyed above these rolling spheres,
The baleful influince of whose giddy dance
Shedis sad vicissitude on all beneath.
Here tocms with revolutions every hour,

190 And rarely for the better; or the best More mortal than the cornmon births of Fate. Each moment has its sicklo, emulous Of Time's enormous scythe, whose ainple sweep Strikes empires from the root ; each moment plays His little weapon in the narrower sphere

196 Of sweet domestic comfort, and cuts down The fairest bloom of sublunary bliss.

Bliss ! sublunary bliss !-proud words, and vain ! implicit treason to divine decree!

200 A bold invasion of the rights of Heaven! I clasp'd the phantoms, and I found them air. O had I weigh'd it ere iny fond embrace, What darts of agony had miss'd my heart !

Death! great proprietor of all ! 'tis thine 205 To tread out empire, and to quench the stars. The Sun himself by thy permission shinos, And, one day, thou shalt pluck him from his spbero : Amid such mighty plunder, why exhaust Thy partial quiver on a mark so mean?

210 Why thy peculiar rancour wreak’d on me? Insatiate archer! could not one sufice ? Thy shaft few thrice, and thrice my peace was slain ; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had fillid her horn. o Cynthia! why so pale ? dost thou lament 215

Thy wretched neighbour ? grieve to see thy wlieel
Of ceaseless change outwhirld in human life?
How wanes my borrow'd bliss! from Fortune's smile,
Precarious courtesy ! not Virtue's sure,
Self-given, solar, ray of sound delight.

220
In every varied posture, place, and hour,
How widow'd every thought of every joy!
T'hought, busy thought! too busy for my peace
Through the dark postern of time long elapsed,
Lec softly, by the stillness of the night,

225 Led, like a murderer, (and such it proves !) Strays (wretched rover !) o'er the pleasing past , In quest of wretchedness perversely strays, And sinds ail desert now, and meets the ghosts Of my departed joys, a numerous train!

230 I rue the riches of my forme: fata ; Sweet confort's blasted clusters I lament; I tremble at the blessings once so dear, And every pieasure pains me to the heart.

Yet why complain? or why complain for ono ? 235 Slangs out the Sun his lustre but for ine, The single man? are angels all beside ? I mourn for snillions ; 'tis the com:non lot : In this shape or in that has Fate entailid The mother's throes on all of woman, born ;

240 Not more the children than sure heirs of pain.

War, fainine, pest, vrlcano, storni, and firo, Intestine bruils, Oppression, with her heart Wrapp'd up in triple brass, besiege mankind. God's image, disinherited of day,

215 Here plunged in mines, forgets a Sun was made : There beings, deathles» as their haughty lord, Are hammer'd to the galling oar for life, And plough the winter's wave, and reap despair. Some for hard masters, broken under arms, 250 In battle lopp'd away, with half their limbs, Beg bitter bread through rcalms their valour savod, If so the tyrant or his minion doom.

Want, and incurable disease, (fell pair !)
On hopeless roultitudes remorseless seize

255
At once, and make a refuge of the grave.
How groaning hospitals eject their dead!
What numbers groan for sad admission there !
What numbers, once in Fortune's lap high fed,
Solicit the cold hand of Charity!

260 To shock us more, solicit it in vain ! Ye silken sons of Pleasure ! since in pains You rue more modish visits, visit here, And breathe from your debauch: give, and reduce Surfeit's dominion o'er you. But so great

265 Your impudence, you blush at what is right.

Happy! did sorrow seize on such alone. Not prudence can defend, or virtue save, Disease invades the chastest temperance ; And punishment the guiltless; and alarm, 270 Through thickest shades, pursues the fond of peace. Man's caution often into danger turns, And his guard, falling, crushes him to death. Not Happiness itself makes good her name ; Our very wishes give us not our wish.

275 How distant oft the thing we dote on most From that for which we dote, felicity! The smoothest course of Nature has its pains, And truest friends, through error, wourt our rest. Without misfortune, what calamities!

280 And what hostilities, without a foe! Nor are foes wanting to the best on earth. But endiess is the list of human ills, And sighs might sooner fail than cause to sigh.

A part how small of the terraqueous globe 285 Is tenanted by man! the rest a waste, Rocks, deserts, frozen seas, and burning sands' Wild haunts of monsters, poisons, stings, and death. Such is Earth's melarcholy map! but, far Möre sad ! this earth is a true map of man : 290 So bounded are its haughty lord's dulights

To Woe's wide empire, where deep troubles toss,
Loud sorrows howl, envenom'd passions bite.
Raven us calamities our vitals seize,
And threatening Fate wide opens to devour. 296

What then am I, who sorrow for myself?
In age, in infancy, from others' aid
Is all our hope ; to teach us to be kind :
That Nature's first, last lesson to mankind.
The selfish heart deserves the pain it feels : 300
More generous sorrow, while it sinks exalts,
And conscious virtue mitigates the rang,
Nor virtue more than prudence bids me give
Swoln thought a second channel : who divide,
They weaken too, the torrent of their grief. 305
Take, then, O World ! thy much indebted tear :
How sad a sight is human happiness
To those, whose thought can pierce beyond an hour !
O thou! whate'er thou art, whose heart exults,
Wouldst thou I should congratulate thy fate ! 310
I know thou wouldst ; thy pride demands it from me:
Let thy pride pardon what t'iy Nature needs,
The salutary censure of a friend.
Thou happy wretch! by blindness thou art blessid ;
By dotage dandled to perpetual smiles.

315 Know, emiler! at thy peril art thou pleased : Thy pleasure is the promise of thy pain Misfortune, like a creditor severe, But rises in demand for her delay ; She makes a scourge of vast prosperity,

320 To sting thce more, and double thy distrees.

Lorenzo ! Fortune makes her court to thee ;
Thy fond heart dances while the siren sings.
Dear is thy welfare ! think me not unkind;
I would not damp, but to secure thy joys.

325
Think not that fear is sacred to the storm;
Stand on thy guard against the smiles of Fate.
Is Heaven tremendous in its frowns ? most sure ;
And in its favours forn‘idable too

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