CONTENTS. Night IX. A Moral Survey of the Nocturnai Heavens, and a Night Address to the Deity, 209 The Force of Religio's, THE COMPLAINT. NIGHT I. ON LIFE, DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. TO) THE RIGIIT HON. ARTHUR ONSLOW, ESQ SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. 5 11 At randomn drove, her helm of reason lost. Though now restored, 'tis only change of pain, (A bitter change !) severer for severe. The Day too short for my distress; and Night, 15 E'en in the zenith of her dark domain, 13 sunshine to the colour of my fate. Night, sable goddess ! from her ebon throne, 25 And let her prophecy be soon fulfillid Silence and Darkness ! solemn sisters! {wins 30 (That column of true majesty in man,) Assist me: I will thank you in the grave; The grave your kingdom : there this frame shall fall A victim sacred to your dreary shrine. But what are ye? 35 Thou who didst put to flight Primeval Silence, when the morning stars, Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball ; O Thou ! whose word from solid darkness struck That spark, the Sun, strike wisdom from my soul; 40 My soul, which flies to thee, her trust, her treasure, As misers to their gold, while others rest. Through this opaque of Nature and of Soul, This double night, transmit one pitying ray, To lighten and to cheer. O lead my mind 45 (A mind that fain would wander from its woe,) Lead it through various scenes of life and death, And from each scene the noblest truths inspire. Nor less inspire my conduct than my song ; Teach my best reason, reason; my best will 50 Teach rectitude ; and fix my firm resolve Wisdom to wed, and pay her long arrear : Nor let tho phial of thy vengeance, pour'd On this devoted head, be poured in vain. 'The bell strikes one. We take no note of timo 55 But from its 'uss: to give it then a tongue Is wise in man As if an angel spoke I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours. Where are they? With the years beyond the flood. 60 It is the signal that demands despatch: How much is to be done! My hopes and fears Start up alarm’d, and o'er life's narrow verge Look down-09 what ? A fathomless abyss. 65 And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour ? How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man! How passing wonder He who made him such! 70 Who centred in our make such strange extremes ! From different natures marvellously mix'd, Connexion exquisite of distant worlds ! Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain! Midway from nothing to the Deity ! 75 A beam ethereal, sullied and absorb'd! Though sullied and dishonour'd, still divine ! Dim miniature of greatness absolute ! An heir of glory! a frail child of dust ! Helpless immortal! insect infinite ! 80 A worm! A god - I tremble at myself, And in myself am lost. At home a stranger, Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast, And wondering at her own. How Reason reels! O what a miracle to man is man! 85 Triumphantly distressd! what joy! what dread! Alternately transported and alarmid; What can preserve my life! or what destroy An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; Legions of angels can't confine me there. 90 'Tis past conjecture ; all things rise in proof: While o'er my limbs Sleep's soft dominion spreads, What though my soul fantastic measures trod O'er fairy fields, or mouru'd along the gloom Of pathless woods, or down the craggy steep 95 Hurl'c headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool, Or scaled the cliff, or danced on hollow winds With antic shapes, wild natives of the brain ! Her ceaseless flight, though devious, speaks her nature Of subtler essence than the trodden clod; 100 Active, aerial, trwering, unconfined, Unfetler'd with her gross companion's fall. Why then their loss deplore, that are not lost ? They live! they greatly live! a life on earth 115 120 Is substance; the reverse is Folly's creed. How solid all, where change shall be no more ! This is the bud of boing, the dinn dawn, The twilight of our day, tl'e vestibule : Life's theatre, as yet is shut; and Death, 125 Strong Death, alone can heave the massy bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, And inoke is, embryos of existence, free. From real life but little more remote Is ho, not yet a candidate for light, 130 The future embryo, slumbering in his sire. Embryos we must be till we burst the shell, Yon ambient azure shell, and spring to life, The life of gods, O transport! and of man. Yet man, fool man! here buries all his thoughts, Inters celestial hopes without one sigh: 136 Priscner of earth and pent beneath the moon, Here pinions all his wishes; wing’d by Heaven To fly at infinite, and reach it there, |