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With endless change of rapturous duties fir'd; Though plung d, before, in horrours dark as Through wondrous beings interposing swarms,
night : All clustering at the call, to dwell in thee; Rich prelibation of consummate joy! Through this wide waste of worlds! this vista vast, Nor wait we dissolution to be blest. Al! sanded o'er with suns; suns turn'd to night Tbis final effort of the moral Muse, Before thy feeblest beam-Look down-down- How justly titled * ? nor for me alone: down,
For all that read; what spirit of support, On a poor breathing particle in dust,
What heights of Consolation, crown my song! Or, lower, an immortal in his crimes.
Then, farewel Night! of darkness, now, do
The two supports of human bappiness,
True taste of life, and constant thought of death! Though transient, terrible ; at thu good hour, The thought of death, sole victor of its dread! Gently, ah gently, lay me in my bed,
llope, be thy joy; and prolity thy skill; My clay-cold bed! by nature now, so near; Thy patron he, whose diadem has dropp'd By nature, near; still nearer by disease!
Yon gems of Ficaven; eternity, thy price:
They part with all for that which is not bread; That tongue of death! that herald of the tomb ! They mortify, they starve, on wealth, fame, And when (the shelter of thy wing implord)
power; My senses, sooth’d, shall sink in soft repose, And laugh to scorn the fools that aim at more. o sink this truth still deper in my soul,
How must a spirit, late escap'd from Farth, Suggested by my pillow, sign'l by fute,
Suppose Philander's, Lucia's, or Narcissa's, First, in fate's volume, at the page of man- The truth of things new-blazing in its eye, Man's sickly soul, though turn's and loss'd for | Look back, astonish'd, on the ways of men, ever,
Whose lives' whole drift is to forget their graves! From side to side, can rest on nought but thee: And when our present privilege is past, Here, in full trust; hereafter, in full joy;
To scourge us with due sense of its aluse,
The same astonisbment will seize us all.
Lorenzo! 't is not yet too late; Lorenzo!
That is, seize wisdom, ere she seizes thee. That death of death! that cordial of despair ! For what, my small philosopher! is Hell? And loud eternity's triumphant song!
'Tis nothing but full knowledge of the truth, * Of whom, no more :-For, O thou Patron- When truih, resisted long, is sworn our foa: God!
And calls eternity to do her right.
My song the midnight raven has outwing'd,
And shot, ambitious of unbounded scenes, The Heaven of Heavens, to kiss the distant Beyond the flaming limits of the world, Farth!
Her gloomy fight. But what avails the flight
Of fancy, when our hearts remain below?
To more than words, to more than worth of Their gratitude, for such a boundless debt,
tongue, Deputes their suffering brothers to receive!
Lorenzo! rise, at this auspicious bour; And, if deep human guilt in payment fails; An hour, when Heaven 's most intimate with man; As deeper guilt prohibits our despair!
When, like a falling star, the ray divine Enjoins it, as our duty, to rejoice!
Glides swift into the bosom of the just; And (to close all) omnipotently kind,
And just are all, determin'd to reclaim;
Thou, who shalt wake, when the creation sleeps;
When Time, like him of Gaza in his wrath,
Plucking the pillars that support the world, Of choral gods, are wafted in the sound;
In Nature's ample ruins lies intomb'd; Heal and exhilarate the broken heart;
And midnight, universal midnight! reigas.
19 Prov, chap. viii.
20 The Consolation
RESIGNATION, PART I.
And with them dy'd my joys; the grave
Has broken Nature's laus;
And clos'd, against this feeble frame,
Its partial cruel jaws; My soul shall be satisfied even as it were with Cruel to spare! condemn'd to life!. marrow and fatness, when my mouth praiseth thee
d cloud impairs my sight; with joyful lips.
Psalm lxiii. 6. My wcak hand disobeys iny will,
And trembles as I write.
What shall I write? Thalia, tell;
Say, long-abandou'd Muse!
What subject shall I choose? but some extracts of it, from the few copies which were given away, being got into the printed papers,
A choice of moment high inspire,
And rescue me from sbaine, it was thought necessary to publish something, lest a copy still more imperfect than this should for doting on thy charms so late, fall into the press : and it is hoped, that this un
By grandeur in my theme. welcome occasion of publication may be some ex- Beyond the themes, which most admire, cuse for it.
Which dazzle, or amaze, As for the following stanzas, God Almighty's in- Beyond renown'd exploits of war, finite power, and marvellous goodness to man, is Bright charms, or empire's blaze, dwelt on, as the most just and cogent reason for
Are themes, which, in a world of woe, our cheerful and absolute resignation to his will;
Can best appease our pain ; nor are any of those topics declined, which have a
And, in an age of gaudy guilt, just tendency to promote that supreme virtue:
Gay folly's tood restrain ; such as the vanity of this life, the value of the next, the approach of death, &c.
Amidst the storms of life support
A calm unshaken mind;
And with unfading laurels crown
The brow of the resign’d.
() Resignation! yet unsung, Of man's too rapid race!
Untouch'd by former strains ;
Though claiming every Muse's smile,
And every poet's pains,
Beneath life's evening, solemn shade,
I dedicate my page
To thee, thou safest guard of youth!
Thou sole support of age !
All other duties crescents are
Of virtue faintly bright,
The glorious consumination, thou!
Which fills her orb with light :
How rarely fill'd! the love divine
In evils to discern,
This the first lesson which we want,
The latest, which we learn;
A melancholy truth! for know,
Could our proud hearts resign,
The distance greatly would decrease
"Twixt human and divine. Permit me, madam! ere to you
But though full noble is my theme,
Full urgent is my call
To soften sorrow, and forbid
The bursting tear to fall :
The task I dread; dare I to leave
Of humble prose the shore,
What throngs have sunk before !
How proud the poet's billow swells !
The God! the God! his boast :
A boast how vain! What wrecks abound !
Dead bards stench every coast.
What then am I? Shall I presume,
On such a moulten wing,
Above the general wreck to rise,
And in my winter, sing i
When nightingales, when sweetest bards
How wretched! who, through cruel fate, Confine their charining song
Have nothing to lament ! To summer's animating heats,
With the poor alms this world affords Content to warble young ?
Deplorably content ! Yet write I must; a lady' sues;
Had not the Greek his world mistook, How shameful her request !
His wish had been most wise; My brain in labour for dull rhyme!
To be content with but one world, Hers teeming with the best !
Like him, we should despise. But you a stranger will excuse,
Of Earth's revenue would you state Nor scorn his feeble strain ;
A full account, and fair? To you a stranger, but, through fate,
We hope; and hope; and hope; then cast
The total up-
Since vain all here, all future, vast,
Embrace the lot assign'd; Too well he knows the twisting strings
Heaven wounds to heal; its frowns are friends; Of ardent hearts combin'd
Its stroke severe, most kind.
But in laps'd Nature rooted deep,
Blind errour domineers; Those tears you pour, his eyes have shed;
And on fools' errands, in the dark,
Sends out our hopes and fears;
Bids us for ever pains deplore,
Our pleasures overprize; But what can heart, or head, suggest?
These oft persuade us to be weak;
Those urge us to be wise.
From virtue's rugged path to right
By pleasure are we brought,
Pain chides us for our fault:
Yet whilst it chides, it speaks of peace,
If folly is withstood; Thought is our armour, 't is the mind's
And says, time pays an easy price,
For our eternal good.
In Earth's dark cot, and in an hour,
And in delusion great It plucks the frightful mask from ills,
What an economist is man
To spend his whole estate,
And beggar an eternity !
For which as he was born, Affection frail! train'd up by sense,
More worlds than one against it weigh'd,
As feathers he should scorn.
Say not, your loss in triumph leads
Religion's feeble strife; Thonght winds its fond, erroneous stream
Joys future amply reimburse
Joys bankrupts of this life.
But not deferr'd yaur joy so long,
It bears an early date; Whence throngs, in ecstasy, look down
Affliction's ready pay in hand,
Befriends our present state :
What are the tears, which trickle down
Her melancholy face, All withers here; who most possess
Like liquid pearl ? Like pearls of price, Are losers by their gain,
They purchase lasting peace. Stung by full proof, that, bad at best,
Grief softens hearts, and curbs the will,
Impetuous passion tames,
From lanching in extremes.
Through time's dark womb, our judgment right, Still vainer, from its end.
If our dim eye was thrown,
Clear should we see, the will divine | Mrs. M
Has but forestall'd our own;
At variance with our future wish,
Now need 1, madam ! your support.Self-sever'd we complain;
How exquisite the smart; If so, the wounded, not the wound,
How criticaily tim'd the news Must answer for the pain :
Which strikes me to the heart! The day shall come, and swift of wing,
The pangs of which I spoke, I feel : Though you may think it slow,
If worth like thine, is born, When, in the list of fortune's smiles,
O long-belor'd! I bless the blow, You'll enter frowns of woe.
And triumph, whilst I mourn. For mark the path of Providence;
Nor mourn I long; by grief subdued This course it has pursued
By reason's empire shown; “ Pain is the paient, woe the womb,
Deep anguish comes by Heaven's decree, Of sound, important good :"
Continues by our own; Our hearts are fastend to this world
And when continued past its point, By strong and endless ties :
Indulg'd in length of time, And every sorrow cuts a string,
Grief is disgrace, and, what was fate, And urges us to rise :
Corrupts into a crime : sT will sound severe-Yet rest assur'd
And shall I, criminally mean, I'm studious of your peace;
Myself and subject u rong? Though I should dore to give you joy
No; my example shall support Yes, joy of his decease :
The subject of my song. An hour shall come (you question this)
Madam! I grant your loss is great; An hour, when you shall bless,
Nor little is your gain? Beyond the brightest beams of life,
Let that be weigh’d; when weighd aright, Dark days of your distress.
It richly pays your pain : Hear then without surprise a truth,
When Heaven would kindly set us free, daughter-truth to this,
And Earth's enchantment end ; Swift turns of fortune often tie
It takes the most effectual means, A bleeding heart to bliss:
And robs us of a friend. Esteem you this a paradox?
But such a friend! and sigh no more? My sacred motto read;
'Tis prudeot; but severe : A glorious truth! divinely sung
Heaven aid my weakness, and I drop, By one, whose heart had bled;
All sorrow—with this tear. To Resignation swift he few,
Perhaps your settled grief to sooth, In her a friend he found,
I should not vainly strive, A friend, wbich bless'd him with a smile
But with soft balm your pain assuage, When gasping with his wound.
Had he been still alive; On Earth naught precious is obtain'd
Whose frequent aid brought kind relief, But what is painful too;
In my distress of thought, By 'ravel, and to iravel born,
Ting'd with his beams my cloudy page, Our sabbaths are but few :
And beautify'd a fault: To real joy we work our way,
To touch our passions' secret springs Encountering many a shock,
Was his peculiar care ; Ere found what truly charms; as found
And deep his happy genius div'd A Venus in the block.
In bosoms of the fair ; In some disaster, some severe
Nature, which favours to the few, Appointment for our sins,
All art beyond, imparts, That mother blessing (not so call'd,)
To him presented at his birth, True happiness, begins.
The key of human hearts. No martyr e'er defy'd the flames,
But not to me hy him bequeath'd By stings of life unvext;
His gentle, smooth address; First rose some quarrel with this world,
His tender hand to touch the wound Then passion for the next.
In throbbing of distress; You see, then, pangs are parent pangs,
Howe'er, proceed I must, unbless'd The pangs of happy birtb;
With Esculapian art: Pangs, by which only can be born
Know, love sometimes, mistaken love! True happiness on Earth.
Plays disaffection's part: The peopled Earth look all around,
Nor lands, nor seas, nor suns, nor stars, Or through time's records run;
Can soul from soul divide; And say, what is a man unstruck ?
They correspond from distant worlds,
Though transports are denied :
Whilst the author was writing this, he received When vain man boasts, Heaven puts to proof the news of Mr. Samuel Richardson's death, whe The vauntings of his pride ;
was then printing the former part of the poem.
Are you not, then, kindly kind ?
The dear deceas'd so fam'd in arins, Is not your love severe?
With what delight he'll views O! stop that crystal source of woe;
His triunpbs on the main outdone, Nor wound hiin with a tear.
Thus conquer'd, twice, by you. As those above from human bliss
Share his delight; take heed to shun keceive increase of joy;
Of bosoms inost discas'd May not a stroke fronı human woe,
That odd distemper, an absurd In part, their peace destroy ?
Reluctance to be pleas'd: He lives in those he left ;-to what?
Some seem in love with sorrow's charins, Your, now, paternal care,
And that foul fiend embrac: Clear from its cloud your brighten'd eye,
This temper let me justly brand, It will discern him there;
And stamp it with disgrace: In features, not of form alone,
Sorrow! of horrid parentage! But those, I trust, of mind;
Thou second-born of Hell ! Auspicious to the public wool,
Against Heaven's endless mercies pour'd And to their fate resign'd.
llow dar'st thou to rebel? Think on the teinpests he sustain'd;
I'rom black and noxious vapours bred Rerolve his battles won ;
And nursil ly want of thought, And let those propliesy your joy
And to the drip of phrensy's self From such a father's son :
By perseverance brought, Is consolation what you seek?
Thy most inglorious, conard tears Fan, then, his martial tire:
From brutal eyes have ran ; Ard animate to fame the sparks
Smiles, incommunicable smiles ! Bequeath'd him by bis sire:
Are radiant marks of man; As nothing great is born in haste,
They cast a sudden glory round Wise Namre's time allow ;
Th'illumin'd human face; His father's laurels may descend,
And light in sons of honest joy And tourish on his brow.
Some beams of Moses' face: Nor, madam! be surpris'd to hear
Is resignation's lesson liard ? That laurels may be due
Examine, we shall find Not more to beroes of the field,
That duty gives up little more (Prond boasters !) than to you:
Than angnish of the mind; Tender as is the female frame,
Resign; and ail the load of life Like that brave man you mourn,
That moment you reinore, You are a soldier, and to fight
Its heavy tax, ten thousand cares Superior battles burn;
Devolve on one above; Deneath a banner nobler far
W'ho bids us lay our burthen down Than erris was unfurl'd
On his al.nighty band, In fields of blood; a banner bright!
Softeps our duty to relief, High ward o'er all the world.
To blessing a comniand. It, like a streaming meteor, casts
For joy what cause! how every sense An universal light;
Is courted from above Sheds day, sheds more, eternal day
The year around, with presents rich, On nations whelm'd in night.
The growth of endless love! Beneath that banner, what exploit
But most o'erlook the blessings pour'd, Can mount our glory higher,
Forget the wonders done', Than to sustain the dreadful blow,
And terminate, wrapp'd up in sense, When those we love expire ?
Their prospect at the Sun; Co forth a moral Amazon ;
From that, their final point of view, Ari'l with undaunted thought ;
From that their radiant goal, The battle won, though costing dear,
On travel infinite of thought, You ’ll think it cheaply bought :
Sets out the nobler soul, The passive hero, who sits down
Broke loose from time's tenacious ties, Unactive, and can smile
And Larth's involving gloom, Beneath allliction's galling load,
To range at last its vast doinain, Out-acts a Cæsar's toil :
And talk with worlds to come : Thc billows stain'd by slaughter'd foes
They let unmark'd, and unemploy'd, Inferior praise afiord;
Life's idle moments run; Reasop's a bloodless conqueror,
And, doing nothing for themselves, More glorious than the sword.
Imagine nothing done; Vor can the thunders of huzzas,
Fatal mistake their fate goes on, Fron sbouting nations, cause
Their dread account proceeds, Such saret delight, as from your heart
And their not-doing is set down Soft whispers of applause :
Amongst their darkest deeds;