That oracle will put all doubt to flight. Short is the lesson, though my lecture long; 1045 1050 1055 It sheds, on souls susceptible of light, The glorious dawn of our eternal day. This (says Lorenzo) is the fair harangue! 1060 But can harangues blow back strong Nature's stream, Or stem the tide Heaven pushes through our veins, Themselves men make their comment on mankind, And think nought is, but what they find at home: 1066 Thus weakness to chimera turns the truth. Nothing romantic has the Muse prescribed. The mortal man, and wretched was the sight. 1070 To balance that, to comfort and exalt, Now see the man immortal: him, I mean, Who lives as such; whose heart, full bent on Heaven, Leans all that way, his bias to the stars. The world's dark shades, in contrast set, shall raise His lustre more; though bright, without a foil: 107€ Observe his awful portrait, and admire ; Nor stop at wonder; imitate, and live. In a former Night. Some angel guide my pencil, while I draw, Like ships in seas, while in, above the world 1080 With aspect mild, and elevated eye, 1085 Earth's genuine sons, the sceptred and the slave 1090 A mingled mob! a wandering herd! he sees, The present all their care, the future his. When public welfare calls, or private want, They give to Fame; his bounty he conceals. Their virtues varnish Nature, his exalt. Mankind's esteem they court, and he his own. Theirs the wild chase of false felicities; 1095 His, the composed possession of the true. 1100 Alike throughout is his consistent peace, 1105 He sees with other eyes than theirs: where they Behold a sun, he spies a Deity. What makes them only smile, makes him adore. 1110 1115 And nothing thinks so great in man, as man. Another's welfare, or his right invade Their interest, like a lior lives on prey. 1125 Wrong he sustains with temper, looks on Heaven, Nought but what wounds his virtue wounds his peace A cover'd heart their character defends; 1130 A cover'd heart denies him half his prais And his alone triumphantly to think His true existence is not yet begun. His glorious course was, yesterday, complete; 1135 Death then was welcome; yet life still is sweet. 1140 But nothing charms Lorenzo like the firm Undaunted breast.--And whose is that high praise ? They yield to pleasure, though they danger brave, And show no fortitude but in the field; If there they show it, 'tis for glory shown; 1145 Nor will that cordial always man their hearts. A cordial his sustains, that cannot fail: By pleasure unsubdued, unbroke by pain, He shares in that Omnipotence he trusts; All bearing, ail attempting, till he fall; 1150 And when he falls, writes l'ici on his shield. From magnanimity all fear above ; From nobler recompense above applause, Which owes to man's short outlook all its charms. Backward to credit what he never felt, Lorenzo cries,- Where shines this miracle? From what root rises this immortal man ?'A root that grows not in Lorenzo's ground: The root dissect, nor wonder at the flower. 1155 He follows Nature (not like thee)* and shows us An uninverted system of a man. 1161 His appetite wears Reason's golden chain, 1165 The gods ordain) a stranger to despair. And why?-because affection, more than meet, His wisdom leaves not disengaged from Heaven. 1170 He, loving in proportion, loves in peace. The moderate movements of his soul admit 1175 An eye impartial, and an even scale; 1180 Whence judgment sound and unrepenting choice. Thus, in a double sense, the good are wise; On its own dunghill wiser than the world. What, then, the world? it must be doubly weak. Strange truth' as soon would they believe their creed. Yet thus it is, nor otherwise can be, So far from aught romantic what I sing ; 1186 Who think earth all, or (what weighs just the same) Who care no farther, must prize what it yields, 1191 * See page 193, line 21. 1135 Fond of its fancies, proud of its parades. 1200 Each act, each thought he questions; 'What its weight, Its colour what, a thousand ages hence?' And what it there appears, he deems it now; Hence pure are the recesses of his soul. The godlike man has nothing to conceal; 1205 His virtue, constitutionally deep, Has Habit's firmness, and Affection's flame: Angels, allied, descend to feed the fire, And Death, which others slays, makes him a god. 1210 Like a broad mist, at distance, strikes us most, 12/5 And, like a mist, is nothing when at hand; His merit, like a mountain, on approach, 1220 Lorenzo! rise to something, by reply. The world, thy client, listens and expects, And longs to crown thee with immortal praise.— 1225 And Wit talks most when least she has to say, And Reason interrupts not her career. |