A grief like this proprietors excludes: Not friends alone such obsequies deplore; They make mankind the mourner; carry sighs 250 260 Down their right channel, through the vale of death. 265 270 This harvest reap from thy Narcissa's grave. To damp our brainless ardours, and abate 275 280 Each friend by Fate snatch'd from us is a plume, 285 Pluck'd from the wing of human vanity, Which makes us stoop from our aerial heights, 290 O'er putrid earth to scratch a little dust, And save the world a nuisance. Smitten friends Are angels sent on errands full of love; For us they languish, and for us they die : And shall they languish, shall they die, in vain? 295 Ungrateful, shall we grieve their hovering shades, Which wait the revolution in our hearts ? Shall we disdain their silent, soft, address, Senseless as herds that graze their hallow'd graves, Tread under foot their agonies and groans, Frustrate their anguish, and destroy their deaths? Lorenzo! no; the thought of death indulge; Give it its wholesome empire! let it reign, 301 That kind chastiser of thy soul, in joy! 305 Its reign will spread thy glorious conquests far, The thought of death shall, like a god, inspire. 310 315 Which starve on orts, and glean their former field. Live ever here, Lorenzo !-shocking thought! 325 So shocking! they who wish, disown it too; Disown from shame, what they from folly crave. Live ever in the womb, nor see the light? For what, live ever here?—with labouring step To tread our former footsteps? pace the round Eternal? to climb life's worn heavy wheel, Which draws up nothing new? to beat, and beat The beaten track? to bid each wretched day The former mock to surfeit on the same, 330 And yawn our joys? or thank a misery 335 For change though sad! to see what we have scen ? Hear, till unheard, the same old slabber'd tale? To taste the tasted, and at each return Less tasteful? o'er our palates to descant Another vintage? strain a flatter year 340 Through loaded vessels, and a laxer tone? Crazy machines to grind Earth's wasted fruits! Ill ground, and worse concocted! load, not life! 345 Still-streaming thoroughfares of dull debauch! Trembling each gulp, lest Death should snatch the bowl. Such of our fire ones is the wish refined! So would they have it: elegant desire! 350 This painted shrew of life, who calls them fool 355 Such are their triumphs! such their pangs of joy! 360 365 "Tis time, high time, to shift this dismal scene. This hugg'd, this hideous state, what art can cure? One only, but that one what all may reach : Virtue-she, wonder-working goddess! charms That rock to bloom, and tames the painted shrew, 1 And what will more surprise, Lorenzo! gives To life's sick, nauseous iteration, change; And straightens Nature's circle to a line. Believest thou this, Lorenzo? lend an ear, A patient ear; thou'lt blush to disbelieve. A languid, leaden iteration reigns, And ever must, o'er those whose joys are joys 370 Of sight, smell, taste. The cuckoo-seasons sing 375 But what those seasons, from the teening earth, 380 In that for which they long, for which they live. 385 To worth maturing, new strength, lustre, fame; While Nature's circle, like a chariot-wheel Makes their fair prospect fairer every hour, Virtue, which Christian motives best inspire; 390 394 And bliss, which Christian schemes alone ensure Apostate, and turn infidels for joy? A truth it is few doubt, but fewer trust, 'He sins against this life, who slights the next. What is this life? how few their favourite know! 400 Fond in the dark, and blind in our embrace, And dreaming, take our passage for our port. 405 An end deplorable! a means divine! When 'tis our all, 'tis nothing worse than nought; : 410 A nest of pains: when held as nothing, much. In prospect richer far; important! awful! Not to be mentioned but with shouts of praise! 415 The mighty basis of eternal bliss! Where now the barren rock? the painted shrew? Where now, Lorenzo, life's eternal round? Nor is that glory distant. Oh, Lorenzo 420 425 430 A good man and an angel! these between How thin the barrier! what divides their fate? Perhaps a moment, or perhaps a year; Or if an age, it is a moment still; 435 A moment, or Eternity's forgot. Then be what once they were who now are gods; |