650

On this fide death, and points them out to men,
A lecture, filent, but of fovereign power!
To vice, confufion; and to virtue, peace.
Whatever farce the boastful hero plays,
Virtue alone has majefty in death!
And greater ftill, the more the tyrant frowns,
Philander! he feverely frown'd on thee.
"No warning given! Unceremonious fate!
A fudden rush from life's meridian joy!
A wrench from all we love! from all we are!
A reflefs bed of pain! a plunge opaque
656
"Beyond conjecture! feeble Nature's dread!

44

Strong Reafon's fhudder at the dark unknown! "A fun extinguifht! a juft-opening grave! "And oh the laft, laft, what? (can words exprefs? 660

Thought reach it ?) the last-Silence of a friend!"

Where are thofe horrors, that amazement, where, This hideous group of ills, which fingly shock, Demand from man?-I thought him man till 665

Through nature's wreck, through vanquisht

agonies, (Like the ftars ftruggling through this midnight gloom)

What gleams of joy? what more than human peace?

670

Where, the frail mortal? the poor abject worm?
No, not in death, the Mortal to be found.
His conduct is a legacy for All.
Richer than Mantmon's for his fingle heir.
His comforters he comforts; Great in ruin,
With unreluctant grandeur, gives, not yields
His foul fublime; and clofes with his fate.

How our hearts burnt within us at the fcene ;675
Whence this brave bound o'er limits fix'd to man?
His God fuftains him in his final hour!
His final hour brings glory to his God!
Man's glory heaven vouchfafes to call her own.
We gaze, we weep; mix tears of grief of joy!
Amazement strikes! devotion burts to flame!681
Chriftians Adore! and Infidels Believe.

As fome tall tower, or lofty mountain's brow, Detains the fun, Illuftrious from its height; While rifing vapours, and defcending fhades, 685 With damps and darkness, drown the fpacious vale; Undampt by doubt, undarken'd by defpair, Philander, thus, auguflly rears his head, At that black hour, which general horror fheds On the low level of th' inglorious throng. Sweet Peace, and heavenly Hope, and humble Joy, Divinely beam on his exalted foul; Deftruction gild, and crown him for the skies, With incommunicable luftre, bright.

690

NIGHT THE THIRD.

NARCISSA.

TO HER GRACE

THE DUCHESS OF PORTLAND. Ignofcenda quidem, feirent fi ignofcere manes."

F

Virg ROM Dreams, where thought in fancy's maze runs mad,

To Reafon, that heaven-lighted lamp in man,
Once more I wake; and at the deftin'd hour,
Punctual as lovers to the moment fworn,
I keep my affignation with my woe.

O loft to virtue, loft to manly thought,
Loft to the noble fallies of the foul!
Who think it folitude, to be Alone.

Communion fweet! communion large and high!
Our Reafon, Guardian Angel, and our God ! 10
Then nearest Thefe, when Others moft remote ;
And All, ere long, fhall be remote, but Thefe.
How dreadful, Then, to meet them all alone,
Aftranger! unacknowledg'd! unapprov'd!
Now woo them; wed them; bind them to thy
breaft;
To win thy with, creation has no more.

15

Or if we with a fourth, it is a Friend-
But friends, how mortal, dangerous the defire!
Take Phœbus to yourselves, ye basking bards!
Inebriate at fair fortune's fountain-head;
And reeling through the wilderness of joy ;
Where Senfe runs favage, broke from Reafun's

chain,

And fings falfe peace, till fmother'd by the pall.
My fortune is unlike; unlike my fong;
Unlike the deity my foug invokes.

20

25

I to Day's foft-ey'd fifter pay my court, (Endymion's rival!) and her aid implore; Now firft implor'd in fuccour to the Mufe. Thou, who didft lately borrow Cynthia's form,

30

And modeftly forego thine Own! O Thou,
Who didft thyself, at midnight hours, infpire!
Say, why not Cynthia patronefs of fong?
As thou her crefcent, the thy character
Affumes; ftill more a goddefs by the change.
Are there demurring wits, who dare difpute 35
l'his revolution in the world infpir'd?
Ye train Pierian! to the Lunar sphere,
In filent hour, addrefs your ardent call
For aid immortal; lefs her brother's right.
She, with the spheres harmonious, nightly leads 40
The mazy dance, and hears their matchlefs ftrain.
A ftrain for gods, deny'd to mortal ear.
What title, or what name, endears thee moit
franfmit it heard, thou filver queen of heaven!
Cynthia Cyllené! Phœbe! or doft hear

At the duke of Norfolk's mafquerade.

With higher guft, fair Portland of the fkies!
Is that the foft enchantment calls thee down,
More powerful than of old Circean charm?
Come; but from heavenly banquets with thee
bring

The foul of fong, and whisper in my ear
The theft divine; or in propitious dreams

50

Scorn the proud man that is afham'd to weepi Our tears indulg'd indeed deferve our fhame. Ye that e'er loft an angel pity me.

Soon as the luftre languifht in her eye, Dawning a dimmer day on human fight: And on her cheek, the refidence of fpring, Pale omen fat; and fcatter'd fears around

110

brea

And kind thou wilt be; kind on fuch a theme; A theme fo like thee, a quite lunar theme, Soft, modeft, melancholy, female, fair! A theme that rufe all pale, and told my foul, "Twas Night; on her fond hopes perpetual night; A night which ftruck a damp, a deadlier damp,60 Than that which fmote me from Philander's tonib. Narcilla follows, ere his tomb is clos'd. Woes cluster: rare are folitary woes;

They love a train, they tread each other's heel;
Her death invades bis mournful right, and claims
The grief that started from my lids for Him: 66
Seizes the faithlefs, alienated tear,

Or fhares it, ere it falls. So frequent death,
Sorrow he more than caufes, he confounds;
For human fighs his rival ftrokes contend,
And make diftrefs, diftraction. Oh Philander!
What was thy fate? A double fate to me;
Portent, and pain! a menace and a blow !
Like the black raven hovering o'er my peace,
Not lefs a bird of omen than of prey.
It call'd Narciffa long before her hour;
It call'd her tender foul, by break of blifs,
From the first bloffom, from the buds of joy ;
Thofe few our noxious fate unblafted leaves
In this inclement clime of human life.

70

75

80

That once had feen?) with hafte, parental hafte,
few, I fnatch'd her from the rigid north,
Her native bed, on which bleak Boreas blew,
And bore her nearer to the fun; the fun
(As if the fun could envy) checkt his beam, 120
Deny'd his wonted fuccour; nor with more
Regret beheld her drooping, than the bells
Of lilies; fairest lilies, not fo fair!

Queen lilies! and ye painted populace!
Who dwell in fields, and lead ambrofial lives; 125
In morn and evening dew, your beauties bathe,
And drink the fun; which gives your cheeks to
glow,

And out-blush (mine excepted) every fair;
You gladlier grew, ambitious of her hand,
Which often cropt your odours, incenfe meet 130
To thought fo pure! ye lovely fugitives!
Coeval race with man! for man you fmile;
Why nor fmile at him too? You share indeed
His fudden país; but not his conftant pain.

So man is made, nought minifters delight, 135
But what his glowing paffions, can engage;
And glowing paffions, bent on aught below,
Muft, foon or late, with anguish turn the scale;
And anguish, after rapture, how fevere!
Rapture? Bold man! who tempt'st the wrath di-

vine,

140

By plucking fruit denied to mortal tafte, While bere, prefuming on the rights of heaven. For transport doft thou call on every hour, Lorenzo? At thy friend's expence, be wife;

Lean not on earth; twill pierce thee to the

heart;

145

Sweet harmonist and Beautiful as fweet! And Young as beautiful! and Soft as young! And Gay as foft! and Innocent as gay! And Happy (if anght Happy bere) as good! For fortune fond had built her neft on high. Like birds quite exquifite of note and plume, Transfixt by fate (who loves a lofty mark), How from the fummit of the grove fhe fell, And left it unharmonious! All its charms Extinguisht in the wonders of her fong! Her fong ftill vibrates in my ravisht car, Still melting there, and with voluptuous pain (0 to forget her !) thrilling through my heart! Song, Beauty, Youth, Love, Virtue, Joy; this group

:

95

Of bright ideas, flowers of paradise,
As yet unforfeit ! in one blaze we bind,
Kneel and prefent it to the skies as All
We guefs of heaven; and these were all her own,
And he was mine; and I was-was!-moft
bleft-

Thought repeil'd

Refenting rallies, and wakes every woe. [150 Snatch'd ere thy prime! and in thy bridal hour! And when kind fortune, with thy lover, smil'd! And when high flavour'd thy fresh opening joys! And when blind man pronounc'd thy blifs complete!

And on a foreign fhore; where strangers wept
Strangers to Thee; and, more furprifing ftill, 155
Strangers to Kindnefs, wept their eyes let fall
Inhuman tears! ftrange tears! that trickled down
Frem marble hearts! obdurate tenderness!
A tenderness that call'd them more fevere;
In fpite of nature's foft perfuafion, steel'd; 160
While nature melted, fuperftition rav'd;
That mourn'd the dead; and this denied a grave.
Their fighs incens'd; fighs foreign to the will!

170

Deny'd the charity of duft, 'to tpread
O'er duft! a charity their dogs enjoy.
What could I do? What fuccour? What refource?
With pious facrilege, a grave I ftole;
With impious piety, that grave I wrong'd;
Short in my duty; coward in my grief!
More like her murderer, than friend, I crept, 175
With foft-fufpended ftep, and muted deep
In midnight darkness, whisper'd my last figh.
I whisper'd what should echo through their realms;
Nor writ her name, whofe tomb fhould pierce the
fkies.

Prefumptuous fear! How durft I dread her foes,
While nature's loudeft dictates I obey'd? 181
Pardon neceflity, bleft fhade! Of grief
And indignation rival bursts I pour'd ;
Half execration mingled with my prayer;
Kindled at man, while 1 his God ador'd;
Sore grudg'd the favage land her facred duft;
Stampt the curft foil; and with humanity
(Denied Narciffa) wifh'd them all a grave."

185

190

196

205

Glows my refentment into guilt? What guilt Can equal violations of the dead? 'The dead how facred! Sacred is the duft Of this heaven-labour'd form, erect, divine! This heaven-affum'd majestic robe of earth, He deign'd to wear, who hung the vast expanfe With azure bright, and cloath'd the fun in gold. When every paffion sleeps that can offend; When ftrikes us every motive that can melt; When man can wreak his rancour uncontrol'd, That strongest curb on infult and ill-will; Then, spleen to duft ? the dust of innocence? 200 An angel's duft?-This Lucifer tranfcends; When he contended for the patriarch's bones, 'Twas not the ftrife of malice, but of pride; The ftrife of pontiff pride, not pontiff gall. For less than This is fhocking in a race Molt wretched, but from ftreams of mutual love; And uncreated, but for love divine; And, but for love divine, this moment loft, By fate reforb'd, and funk in endless night. Man hard of heart to man! of horrid things 210 Moft horrid! 'Mid ftupendous, highly ftrange! Yet oft his courtefies are fimoother wrongs; Pride brandishes the favours He confers, And contumelious his humanity: What then his vengeance? Hear it not, ye ftars! And thou, pale moon! turn paler at the found; Man is to man the foreft, furest ill. A previous blaft foretels the rifing florm; O'erwhelming turrets threaten ere they falls Volcanos bellow ere they difembogue ; Earth trembles ere her yawning jaws devour; And smoke betrays the wide-consuming fire: Ruin from man is moft conceal'd when near, And fends the dreadful tidings in the blow. Is this the flight of fancy? Would it were! 225 Heaven's Sovereign faves all beings, but himself, That hideous fight, a naked human heart.

214

220

Fir'd is the Mufe? And let the Mufe be fir'd: Who not enflam'd, when what he fpeaks, he feels, And in the nerve moft tender, in his friends? 230

Shame to mankind! Philander had his foes:
He felt the truths I fing, and I in Him.
But He, nor I, feel more : paft ills, Narciffa!
Are funk in Thee, thou recent wound of heart!
Which bleeds with other cares, with other pangsz
Pangs numerous, as the numerous ills that
fwarm'd
236

Oe'r thy diftinguish'd fate, and, clustering There
Thick as the locufts on the land of Nile,
Made death more deadly, and more dark the
240

grave.

245

Reflect (if not forgot my touching tale)
How was each circumftance with afpics arm'd?
An afpie, Each! and All, an Hydra woe:
What ftrong Herculean virtue could fuffice?
Or is it virtue to be conquer'd Here?
This hoary cheek a train of tears bedcws;
And each tear mourns its own diftinct diftrefs;
And each diftrefs, diftinctly mourn'd, demands.
Of grief ftill more, as heighten'd by the whole.
A grief like this proprietors excludes
Not friends alone fuch obfequies deplore;
They make mankind the mourner; carry fighs
Far as the fatal Fame can wing her way;
And turn the gayeft thought of gayett age,
Down their right channel, through the vale of
death.

250

Of all moft wanted, and moft welcome, here. For gay Lorenzo's fake, and for thy own, [265 My foul!" The fruits of dying friends furvey; Expofe the vain of life; weigh life and death; "Give death his eulogy; thy fear tubdue; "And labour that firft palm of noble minds, "A manly fcorn of terror from the tomb."

This harvest reap from thy Narcia's grave 270 As poet's feign'd from Ajax' ftreaming blood Arofe, with grief inferib'd, a mournful flower; Let wifdom bloffom from my mortal wound. And fir, of dying friends; what fruit from thefe? 275

230

It brings us more than triple aid; an aid
To chafe our thoughtlesnefs, fear, pride and guilt.
Our dying friends come o'er us like a cloud,
l'o damp our brainless ardors; and abate
That glare of life which often blinds the wife.
Our dying friends are pioneers, to fmooth
Our rugged pafs to death; to break thofe bars
Of terror, and abhorrence, nature throws
Cross our obstructed way; and thus to make
Welcome, as fafe, our port from every storm.
Each friend by fate fuatch'd from us, is a plume
Pluck'd from the wing of human vanity,
Wh ch makes us ftoop from our aerial heights,
And, dampt with omen of our own deceale,

285