All her lyes anfwers, and thinks down her charms.
What awful joy! what mental liberty!
I am not pent in darkness; rather fay,
(If not too bold) in darkness I'm embower'd.
Delightful gloom! the cluflering thoughts around
Spontaneous rife, and bloffom in the fhade: 206
But droop by day, and ficken in the fun.
Thought borrows light elfewhere; from that firft
fire,

Fountain of animation! whence defcends
Urania, my celeftial gueft! who deigns
Nightly to vifit me, fo mean; and norv,
Confcious how needful difcipline to man,
From pleafing dalliance with the charms
night

Dung'd, but not drefs'd; and rich to beggary.
A pomp untameable of weeds prevails.
Her fervant's wealth, incumber'd wifilom mourns.
And what fays genius? "Let the dull be wife."
Genius, too hard for right, can prove it wrong; 265-
And loves to boaft, where blufh men lefs infpir'd.
It pleads exempt'on from the laws of fenje;
Confiders reafon as a leveller;

And fcorns to fhare a bleffing with the croud.
That wife it could be, thinks an ample claim 270
210 To glory, and to pleafure gives the reft.
Craffus but fleeps, Ardelio is undone.
Wisdom lefs hudders at a fool, than wit.

of

215

My wandering thought recalls, to what excites
Far other beat of heart! Narciffa's tomb !
Or is it feeble nature calls me back,
And breaks my fpirit into grief again?
Is it a Stygian vapour in my blood?

220

225

A cold, flow puddle, creeping through my veins?
Or is it thus with all men ?-Thus with all.
What are we? How unequal! Now we foar,
And now we fink; to be the fame, tranfcends
Our prefent prowefs. Dearly pays the foul
For lodging ill; too dearly rents her clay.
Reafon, a baffled counfellor! but adds
The blush of weakness to the bane of woe.
The nobleft fpirit, fighting her hard fate,
In this damp, dufty region, charg'd with ftorms
But feebly flutters, yet untaught to fly; [230
Or, flying, fhort her flight, and fure her fall.
Our utmost strength, when down, to rife again;
And not to yield, though beaten, all our praise.

'Tis vain to feek in men for more than man. Though proud in promife, big in previous thought,

240

Experience damps our triumph. I who late, 235
Emerging from the fhadows of the grave,
Where grief detain'd me prifoner, mounting high,
Threw wide the gates of everlasting day,
And call'd mankind to glory, fhook off pain,
Mortality hook off, in æther pure,
And ftruck the ftars: now feel my fpirits fail';
They drop me from the zenith; down I rush,
Like him whom fable fledg'd with waxen wings,
In forrow drown'd-but not in forrow loft.
How wretched is the man who never mourn'd!
I dive for precious pearl in forrow's stream: 246
Not fo the thoughtless man that only grieves:
Takes all the torment, and rejects the gain,
(Incftimable gain!) and gives heaven leave

To make him but more wretched, not more
wife.

250

If wisdom is our leffon (and what else
Ennobles man ? what else have angels learnt ?)
Grief! more proficients in thy school are made,
Than genius, or proud learning, e'er could boast.
Voracious learning, often over-fed,
Digefts not into fenfe her motley meal.
This book-cafe, with dark booty almost burst,
This forager
on others' wisdom, leaves

Her native farm, her reafon, quite untill'd.
With mixt manure the furfeits the rank foil,

255

But wifdem fmiles, when humbled mortals weep.

glebe,

When forrow wounds the breaft, as ploughs the
275
And hearts obdurat feel her foftening shower;
Her feed celeftial, then, glad wifdom lows;
Her golden harvest triumphs in the foil.
If fo, Narciffa! welcome my Rilapfe ;
I'll raife a tax on my calamity,

280

And reap rich compenfation from my pain.
I'll range the plenteous intellectual field;
And gather every thought of fovereign power
To chafe the moral maladies of man;
Thoughts, which may bear tranfplanting to the
fkies,
285

Though natives of this coarfe penurious foil :
Nor wholly wither there, where feraphs fing,
Refin'd, exalted, not annull'd, in heaven."
Reason, the fun that gives them birth, the fame
In either clime, though more illuftrious there. 290
Thefe choicely cuil'd, and elegantly rang'd,
Shall forni a garland for Narciffa's tomb;
And, peradventure, of no fading flowers.

Say on what themes fhall puzzled choice defcend?
"Th' importance of contemplating the tomb;
"Why men decline it ; fuicide's foul birth; 296
"The various kind of grief; the faults of age;
"And death's dread character-invite my fong.'

And, firft th' importatice of our end furvey'd.
Friends counsel quick difimiffion of our grief: 300
Miftaken kindness! our hearts heal tou foon.
Are they more kind than be, who ftruck the blow?
Who bid it do his errand in our hearts,
And banish peace, till nobler guests arrive,
And bring it back, a true and endless peace? 305
Calamities are friends as glaring day

Of these unnumber'd luftres robs our fight;
Profperity puts out unnumber'd thoughts
Of import high, and light divine, to man.
The man how bieft, who, fick of gaudy
scenes,)
31
(Scenes apt to thrust between Us and Ourfelves!.
Is led by choice to take his favourite walk,
Beneath death's gloomy, filent, cypress shades,
Unpierc'd by vanity's fantastic ray;

To read his monuments, to weigh his duft, 313
Vifit his vaults, and dwell among the tombs !
Lorenzo read with me Narciffa's stone;
(Narciffa was thy favourite) let us read
Her moral tone! few doctors preach fo well :
260 Few orators fo tenderly can touch

Behold, th' inexorable hour forgot?,
And to forget it, the chief aim of life,
Though well to ponder it, is life's chief end.

Is death, that ever threatening, ne'er remote,
That all-important, and that only fure,
(Come when he will) an unexpected guest?
Nay, though invited by the loudest calls
Of blind imprudence, unexpected ftill?
Though numerous me flengers are sent before,
To warn his great arrival. What the caufe, 390
The wondrous caufe, of this myfterious ill
All heaven looks down aftonifh'd at the fight.

Is it, that life has fown he joy fo thick, We can't thruft in a tingle care between? 335it, that life has fuch a fwarm of cares,

340

Lefs bafe the fear of death, than fear of life.
O Britain, infamous for fuicide!
An island in thy manners, far disjoin'd
From the whole world of rationals befide!
In ambient waves plunge thy polluted head, 445
Wafh the dire ftain, nor fhock the continent.

But be thou fhock'd, while I detect the cause
Of felf-affault, expofe the monster's birth,
And bid abborrence hifs it round the world.
Blame not thy clime, nor chide the diftant fun;
The fun is innocent, thy clime abfølv'd:
Immoral climes kind nature never made.
The caufe 1 fing, in Eden might prevail,
And proves, It is thy folly, not thy fate.

451

455

The foul of man (let man in homage bow,
Who names his foul), a native of the skies!
High-born, and free, her freedom fhould main-
tain,

460

Unfold, unmortgag'd for earth's little bribes.
Th' illuftrious stranger, in this foreigu land,
Like frangers, jealous of her dignity,
Studious of home, and ardent to return,
Of earth fufpicious, earth's inchanted cup
With cool referve light touching, should indulge,
On immortality, her godlike tafte,

There take large draughts; make her chief ban-
quet there.

But fome reject this fuftenance divine; To beggarly vile appetites defcend;

465

Afk alms of earth for guests that came from bea

ven:

Sink into flaves; and fell, for prefent hire, [470
Their rich reverfion, and (what fhares its fate)
Their native freedom, to the prince who sways
This nether world. And when his payments
fail,

When his foul basket gorges them no more,
Or their pall'd palates loath the basket full
Are inftantly, with wild demoniac rage,
For breaking all the chains of Providence,-

475

505

Number their moments, and, in every clock, 500.
Start at the voice of an Eternity;
See the dim lamp of life juft feebly lift
An agonizing beam, at us to gaze,
Then fink again, and quiver into death,
That most pathetic herald of our own;
How read we fuch fad fcenes? As fent to man
In perfect vengeance? No; in pity fent,
To melt him down, like wax, and then imprefs,
Indelible, death's image on his heart;
Bleeding for others, trembling for himself.
We bleed, we tremble, we forget, we fmile.
The mind turns fool, before the echek is dry.
Our quick-returning fully cancels all ;
As the tide rufhing rafes what is writ
In yielding fands, and fmooths the letter'd fhore.
Lorenzo! haft thou ever weight'd a figh? 516
Or ftudy'd the philofophy of tears?

510

(A fcience, yet unlectur'd in our schools!)
Haft thou defcended deep into the breaft,
And feen their fource? If not, defcend with
520

me,

525

And trace thefe briny rivulets to their fprings.
Our funeral tears from different caufes rife,
As if from feparate cifterns in the foul,
Of various kinds, they flow. From tender hearts,
By foft contagion call'd, fome burft at once,
And ftream obfequious to the leading eye.
Some afk more time, by curious art distil'd.
Some hearts, in fecret hard, unapt to melt,
Struck by the magic of the public eye,
Like Mofes' fmitten rock, gufh out amain. 530
Some weep to fhare the fate of the deceas'd,
So high in merit, and to them fo dear.
They dwell on praises, which they think they
fhare;

And thus, without a bluh, commend themselves.
Some mourn, in proof, that fomething they could
love:
535
They weep not to relieve their grief, but bezv.

And bursting their confinement; though faft Some weep in perfect juftice to the dead,

barr'd

480

By laws divine and human; guarded strong
With horrors doubled to defend the pass,
The blackest, nature, or dire guilt can raife;
And moated round with fathomless deftruction,
Sure to receive, and whelm them in their fall.
Such, Britons! is the caufe, to you unknown,
Or worse, o'erlook'd; o'erlook'd by magiftrates,
Thus criminals themselves. I grant the deed 485
Is madness: but the madnefs of the heart.
And what is that? Our utmost bound of guilt.
A fenfual, unreflecting life, is big

With monstrous births, and Suicide to crown
The black infernal brood. The bold to break 490
Heaven's law fupreme, and defperately rufh
Through facred nature's murder, on their own,
Because they never think of death, they die.
'Tis equally man's duty, glory, gain,
At once to fhun, and meditate, his end.
When by the bed of languifhment we fit,
(The feat of rfdom! if our choice, not fate)
Or, o'er our dying friends, in anguish hang,
Wipe the cold dew, or ftay the finking head,

495

541

As confcious all their love is in arrear.
Some mitchievously weep, not unappriz'd,
Tears, fometimes, aid the conqueft of an eye.
With what address the soft Ephesians draw
Their fable net-work o'er entangled hearts!
As feen through crystal, how their roses glow,
While liquid pearl runs trickling down their
check?

Of her's not prouder Egypt's wanton queen, 545
Carcufing gems, herself diffolv'd in love.
Some weep at death, abftracted from the dead,
And celebrate, like Charles, their own deceafe.
By kind conftruction, fome are deem'd to weep,
Because a decent veil conceals their joy.

550

Already at the door? He knocks, we hear,
And yet we will not hear. What mail defends 620
Our untouch'd hearts? What miracle turns off
The pointed thought, which from a thousand qui-

vers

That noble gift! that privilege of man!
From forrow's pang, the birth of endless joy. 560
But these are barren of that birth divine:
They weep impetuous, as the fummer ftorm,
And full as fhort! The cruel grief foon tam'd,
They make a paftime of the ftinglefs tale;
Far as the deep refounding knell, they spread
The dreadful news, and hardly feel it more.
No grain of wifdom pays them for their woe.
Half-round the globe, the tears pump'd up by We fee time's furrows on another's brow,

death

565

570

Are spent in watering vanities of life;
In making folly flourish ftill more fair,
When the fick foul, her wonted stay withdrawn,
Reclines on earth, and forrows in the duft;
Inftead of learning, there, her true support,
Though there thrown down her true fupport to
learn

Without heaven's aid, impatient to be bleft,
She crawls to the next fhrub, or bramble vile,
Though from the stately cedar's arms fhe fell;
With ftale, forfworn embraces, clings anew,
The stranger weds, and blossoms, as before,
In all the fruitlefs fopperies of life:
Prefents her weed, well fancy'd, at the ball,
And raffles for the death's head on the ring.

575

580

Is daily darted, and is daily fhunn'd?
We ftand, as in a battle, throngs on throngs
Around us falling; wounded oft ourselves;
Though bleeding with our wounds, immortal ftill!

625

And death entrench'd, preparing his affault;
How few themselves in that just mirror fee!
Or, fecing, draw their inference as ftrong! 630
There death is certain; doubtful bere: he muft,
And foon; we may, within an age, expire.
Though grey our heads, our thoughts and aims
are green;

Like damag'd clocks, whofe hand and bell diffent;
Folly fings Six, while Nature points at Twelve. 635
Abfurd longevity! More, more, it cries:
More life, more wealth, more trash of every kind.
And wherefore mad for more, when relish fails?
Object and appetite, muft club for joy;

645

Shall folly labour hard to mend the bow,
Baubles, I mean, that strike us from without,
While nature is relaxing every ftring?

640

585

Of

590

Afk thought for joy; grow rich, and hoard within.
Think you the foul, when this life's rattles cease,
Has nothing of more manly to fucceed?
Contract the taste immortal; learn ev'n now
To relish what alone fubfifts hereafter.
Divine, or none, henceforth your joys for ever.
age the glory is, to wife to die.
That wifh is praife, and promife; it applauds
Paft life, and promifes our future blifs.

650

What weakness fee not children in their fires?
Grand-climacterical abfurdities!

So wept Aurelia, till the deflin'd youth
Stept in, with his receipt for making fmiles,
And blanching fables into bridal bloom.
So wept Lorenzo fair Clariffa's fate;
Who gave that angel boy, on whom he doats;
And dy'd to give him, orphan'd in his birth!
Not fuch, Narciffa, my diftrefs for Thee.
I'll make an altar of thy facred tomb,
To facrifice to wisdom. What waft Thou?
"Young, gay, and fortunate!" Each yields
theme.

I'll dwell on each, to fhun thought more fevere;
(Heaven knows I labour with severer still !)
I'll dwell on each, and quite exhauft thy death.
A foul without reflection, like a pile
Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.

a

Calls for our car cafes to mend the foil.
605 Enough to live in tempeft, die in port;
Age fhould fly concourfe, cover in retreat
Defects of judgment; and the will's fubdue;
Walk thoughtful on the filent, folemn fhore
Of that vaft ocean it must fail fo foon;
And put good-works on board; and wait the
wind

Narciffa, I'm become thy pupil now-
Early, bright, tranfient, chafte, as morning dew,
She fparkled, was exhal'd, and went to heaven.
Time on this head has fnow'd; yet ftill 'tis borne
Aloft; nor thinks but on another's grave.
Cover'd with fhame I speak it, age fevere
Old worn-out vice fets down for virtue fair;
With graceless gravity, chaftifing youth,
That youth chaftis'd furpaffing in a fault,
Father of all, forgetfulness of death:
As if, like objects preffing on the fight,
Death had advanc'd too near us to be feen :
Or, that life's loan time ripen'd into right;
And men might plead prescription from the grave;
Deathlefs, from repetition of reprieve.
Deathless? far from it! fuch are dead already; [615
Their hearts are bury'd, and the world their grave.
Tell me, fome god! my guardian angel! tell,
What thus infatuates? what enchantment plants
The phantom of an age 'twixt us and death

61

That shortly blows us into worlds unknown,
If unconfider'd too, a dreadful scene!

670

All fhould be prophets to themselves; foresee
Their future fate: their future fate foretaste ; 675
This art would waste the bitterness of death.
The thought of death alone, the fear destroys.
A difaffection to that precious thought