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548
YOUNG.

Of every thought ? and wish of every hour ? Which relish fruits unripen'd by the Sun,
And song of every joy ? Surprising truth! Make their days various ; various as the dyes
The beaten spaniel's fondness not so strange.

On the dove's neck, which wanton in his rays.
To wave the numerous ills that seize on life On minds of dove-like innocence possest,
As their own property, their lawful prey ;

On lighten'd minds, that bask in virtue's beams,
Ere man has measur'd half his weary stage, Nothing hangs tedious, nothing old revolves
His lururies have left him no reserve,

In that, for which they long; for which they live
No maiden relishes, unbroach'd delights;

Their glorious efforts, wing'd with heavenly hope,
On cold-serv'd repetitions, he subsists,

Each rising morning sees still higher rise;
And in the tasteless present chew's the past ; Each bounteous dawn its novelty presents
Disgusted chews, and scarce can swallow down. To worth maturing, new strength, lustre, fame;
Like lavish ancestors, his earlier years

While Nature's circle, like a chariot-wheel
Have disinherited his future hours,

Rolling beneath their elevated aims,
Which sfarve on arls, and glean their former field. Makes their fair prospect fairer every hour;

Live ever here, Lorenzo !-shocking thought! Advancing virtue, in a line to bliss;
So shocking, they who wish, disown it, too; Virtue, which Christian motives best inspire!
Disown from shame, what they from folly crave. And bliss, which Christian schemes alone insure.
Live ever in the womb, por see the light?

And shall we then, for Virtue's sake, commence
For what live ever here?-With laboring step A postates; and turn infidels for joy?
To tread our former footsteps ? Pace the round A truth it is, few doubt, but fewer trust,
Eternal? To climb life's worn, heavy wheel, “He sins against this life, who slights the next.”
Which draws up nothing new? To beat, and beat What is this life? How few their favorite know!
The beaten track? To bid each wretched day Fond in the dark, and blind in our embrace,
The former mock ? To surfeit on the same,

By passionately loving life, we make
And yawn our joys ? Or thank a misery

Lov'd lise unlovely; hugging her to death.
For change, though sad ? 'To see what we have seen? We give to time eternity's regard ;
Hear, till unheard, the same old slabber'd tale ? And, dreaming, take our passage for our port.
To taste the tasted, and at each return

Life has no value as an end, but means ;
Less tasteful? O'er our palates to decant

An end deplorable! a means divine ! Another vintage? Sirain a fatter year,

When 'uis our all, 'tis nothing! worse than nought;
Through loaded vessels, and a laxer tone ?

A nest of pains: when held as nothing, much :
Crazy machines to grind Earth's wasted fruits ! Like some fair hum'rists, life is most enjoy'd
Ill-ground, and worse-concocted! Load, not life! When courted least; most worth, when disesteem'd.
The rational foul kennels of excess!

Then 'tis the seat of comfort, rich in peace ;
Still-streaming thoroughfares of dull debauch!

In prospect richer far; important! awful! Trembling each gulp, lest death should snatch the Not to be mention'd, but with shouts of praise ! bowl.

Not to be thought on, but with tides of joy!
Such of our fine-ones is the wish refin'd! The mighty basis of eternal bliss !
So would they have it: elegant desire!

Where now the barren rock ? the painted shrew ?
Why not invite the bellowing stalls, and wilds ? Where now, Lorenzo! life's eternal round?
But such examples might their riot awe.

Have I not made my triple promise good ?
Through want of virtue, that is, want of thought, Vain is the world; but only to the vain.
(Though on bright thought they father all their To what compare we then this varying scene,
flights.)

Whose worth ambiguous rises, and declines ? To what are they reduc'd? To love, and hate Waxes and wanes? (In all propitious, night The same vain world ; to censure, and espouse, Assists me here) compare it to the Moon; This painted shrew of life, who calls them fool Dark in herself, and indigent; but rich Each moment of each day; to flatter bad,

In borrow'd lustre from a higher sphere.
Through dread of worse; to cling to this rude rock, When gross guilt interposes, laboring Earth,
Barren, to them, of good, and sharp with ills, O'ershadow'd, mourns a deep eclipse of joy ;
And hourly blackend with impending storms, Her joys, at brightest, pallid, to that font
And infamous for wrecks of human hope- Of full effulgent glory, whence they flow.
Scard at the gloomy gulf, that yawns beneath. Nor is that glory distant: Oh Lorenzo !
Such are their triumphs! such their pangs of joy! A good man, and an angel! these between

'Tis time, high time, to shift this disroal scene, How thin the barrier! what divides their fate ?
This hugg'd, this hideous state, what art can cure? Perhaps a moment, or perhaps a year;
One only; but that one, what all may reach; Or, if an age, it is a moment still;
Virtue—she, wonder-working goddess ! charms A moment, or eternity's forgot.
That rock to bloom; and tames the painted shrew; Then be, what once they were, who now are gods ;
And, what will more surprise, Lorenzo! gives Be what Philander was, and claim the skies.
To life's sick, nauseous iteration, change;

Starts timid Nature at the gloomy pass ?
And straitens Nature's circle to a line.

The soft transition call it; and be cheer'd:
Believ'st thou this, Lorenzo ? lend an ear,

Such it is often, and why not to thee?
A patient ear, thou 'lt blush to disbelieve.

To hope the best, is pious, brave, and wise ;
A languid, leaden, iteration reigns,

And may itself procure, what it presumes.
And ever must, o'er those, whose joys are joys Life is much flatter'd, Death is much traduc'd ;
Or sight, smell, taste: the cuckoo-seasons sing Compare the rivals, and the kinder crown.
The same dull note to such as nothing prize,

Strange competition !"— True, Lorenzo! strange!
But what those seasons, from the teeming Earth, So little life can cast into the scale.
To doting sense indulge. But nobler minds,

Life makes the soul dependent on the dust;

All eye.

all ear,

Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres. Rich death, that realizes all my cares, Through chinks, styl’d organs, dim life peeps al Toils, virtues, hopes; without it a chimera ! light;

Dealh, of all pain the period, not of joy ; Death bursts th' involving cloud, and all is day ; Joy's source, and subject, still subsists unhurt: the disembodied power.

One, in my soul ; and one, in her great Sire ; Death has feign'd evils, Nature shall not feel; Though the four winds were warring for my dust. Life, ill substantial, Wisdom cannot shun.

Yes, and from winds, and waves, and central night, Is not the mighty Mind, that son of Heaven? Though prison'd there, my dust 100 / reclaim, By tyrant Life dethron'd, imprison'd, paind ? (To dust when drop proud Nature's proudest By Death enlarg'd, ennobled, deificd ?

spheres.) Death but entombs the body; life the soul.

And live entire. Death is the crown of life: " Is Death then guiltless ? How he marks his way were death denied, poor man would live in vain; With dreadful waste of what deserves to shine! Were death denied, to live would not be life; Art, genius, fortune, elevated power!

Were death denied, e'en fools would wish to die. With various lustres these light up the world, Death wounds to cure : we fall; we rise, we reign! Which Death puts out, and darkens human race." Spring from our fellers; fasten in the skies; I grant, Lorenzo! this indictment just :

Where blooming Eden withers in our siglit: The sage, peer, potentate, king, conqueror! Death gives us more than was in Eden lost. Death humbles these; more barbarous life, the man. This king of terrors is the prince of peace. Life is the triumph of our mouldering clay ; When shall I die to vanity, pain, death? Death, of the spirit infinite! divine !

When shall I die ?-When shall I live for ever?
Death has no dread, but what frail life imparts ;
Nor life true joy, but what kind death improves.
No bliss has life to boast, till death can give
Far greater; life's a debior to the grave,

NIGHT THE FOURTA.
Dark lattice! letting in eternal day.
Lorenzo! blush at fondness for a life,

THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH.
Which sends celestial souls on errands vile,
To cater for the sense ; and serve at boards,

Containing our only Cure for the Fear of Death ; and
Where every ranger of the wilds, perhaps
Each reptile, justly claims our upper hand.

proper Sentiments of that inestimable Blessing. Luxurious feast! a soul, a soul immortal,

TO THE HONORABLE MR. YORKE.
In all the dainties of a brute bemir'd!
Lorenzo! blush at terror for a death,

A MUCH-INDEBTED Muse, O Yorke! intrudes.
Which gives thee to repose in festive bowers, Amid the smiles of fortune, and of youth,
Where neclars sparkle, angels minister,

Thine ear is patient of a serious song.And more than angels share, and raise, and crown, How deep implanted in the breast of man And eternize, the birth, bloom, bursts of bliss. The dread of death! I sing its sovereign cure. What need I more! O Death, the palm is thine. Why slart at Death? Where is he? Death Then welcome, Death! thy dreaded harbingers,

arriv'd, Age, and disease ; disease, though long iny guest; Is past; not come or gone, he's never here. Thai plucks iny nerves, those tender strings of life; Ere hope, sensalion fails ; black-boding man Which. pluck'd a little more, will toll the bell, Receives, not suffers, Death's tremendous blow. * That call my few friends to my funeral ;

The knell, the shroud, the matlock, and the grave; Where feeble Nature drops, perhaps, a tear, The deep damp vault, the darkness, and the worm ; While Reason and Religion, better taught, These are the bugbears of a winter's eve, Congratulate the dead, and crown his tomb

The terrors of the living, not the dead. With wreath triumphant. Death is victory; Imagination's fool, and error's wretch, It binds in chains the raging ills of life:

Man makes a death, which Nature never made ; Lust and ambition, wra!h and avarice,

Then on the point of his own fancy falls ; Dragg’d at his chariot-wheel, applaud his power. And feels a thousand deaths, in searing one. That ills corrosive, cares imporiunate,

But were Death frightful, what has age to fear? Are not immorlal too, O Death! is thine.

If prudent, age should meet the friendly foe, Our day of dissolution !--name it right;

And shelter in his hospitable gloom. "Tis our great pay-day ; 'uis our harvest, rich I scarce can meet a monument, but holds And ripe. What though the sickle, sometimes My younger; every date cries" Come away." keen,

And what recalls me? Look ihe world around, Just scars us as we reap the golden grain ? And tell me what: the wisest cannot tell. More than thy balm, 0 Gilead! heals the wound. Should any born of woman give his thought Birth's feeble cry. and Death's deep dismal groan, Full range on just dislike's unbounded field; Are slender tributes low-taxd Nature pays of things, the vanity; of men, the laws; For mighty gain: the gain of each, of life! Flaws in the best ; the many, flaw all o'er; But 0! the last the former so transcends,

As leopards, spoiled, or, as Ethiops, dark; Life dies, compar'd; life lives beyond the grave. Vivacious ill ; good dying immature ;

And feel I, Death! no joy froin thought of thee ? (How immature, Narcissa's marble tells !) Death, ihe great counsellor, who man inspires And at bis death bequeathing endless pain; With every nobler thought, and fairer deed! Ilis heart, though bold, would sicken at the sight, Death, the deliverer, who rescues man!

And spend itself in sighs, for future scenes. Death, the rewarder, who the rescued crowns ! But grant to life (and just it is to grant Death, that absolves my birib ; a curse without it! To lucky life) some perquisites of joy ;

A time there is, when, like a thrice-told tale, Unbit by rage canine of dying rich ;
Long-rified life of sweet can yield no more, Guili's blunder! and the loudest laugh of Hell.
But from our comment on the comedy,

O my coëvals! remnants of yourselves !
Pleasing reflections on parts well sustain'd, Poor human ruins, tottering o'er the grave!
Or purpos'd emendations where we fail'd,

Shall we, shall aged men, like aged trees, Or hopes of plaudits from our candid Judge, Strike deeper their vile root, and closer cling, When, on their exit, souls are bid unrobe,

Still more enamour'd of this wretched soil ! Toss Fortune back her tinsel, and her plume, Shall our pale, wither'd hands, be still stretch'd out, And drop this mask of flesh behind the scene. Trembling, at once, with eagerness and age ?

With me, that time is come; my world is dead; With avarice and convulsions, grasping hard ? A new world rises, and new manners reign : Grasping at air! for what has Earth beside ? Foreign comedians, a spruce band! arrive, Man wants but little ; nor that little, long: To push me from the scene, or hiss me there. How soon must he resign his very dust, What a pert race starts up! the strangers gaze, Which frugal Nature lent him for an hour! And I at them; my neighbor is unknown; Years unexperienc'd rush on numerous ills ; Nor that the worst : Ah me! the dire effect And soon as man, expert from time, has found Of loitering here, of death defrauded long; The key of life, it opes the gates of death. Of old so gracious (and let that suffice,)

When in this vale of years I backward look, My very master knows me not.—

And miss such numbers, numbers too of such Shall I dare say, peculiar is the fate?

Firmer in health, and greener in their age, I've been so long remember'd, I 'm sorgot.

And stricter on their guard, and fitter far An object ever pressing dirns the sight,

To play life's subile game, I scarce believe And hides behind its ardor to be seen.

I still survive; and am I fond of life,
When in his courtiers' ears I pour my plaint, Who scarce can think it possible, I live?
They drink it as the nectar of the great;

Alive by miracle! or, what is next,
And squeeze my hand, and beg me come to-morrow. Alive by Mead ! if I am still alive,
R-fusal! canst thou wear a smoother form? Who long have buried what gives life to live

Indulge me, nor conceive I drop my theme : Firmness of nerve, and energy of thought.
Who cheapens lise, abates the fear of death: Life's lee is not more shallow than impure
Twice told the period spent on stubborn Troy, And vapid ; sense and reason show the door,
Court favor, yet untaken, I besiege;

Call for my bier, and point me to the dust. Ambition's ill-judged effort to be rich.

O thou great Arbiter of life and death! Alas! ambition makes my little less;

Nature's immortal, immaterial Sun! Embittering the possest. Why wish for more? Whose all-prolific beam late call’d me forth Wishing, of all employments, is the worst; From darkness, teeming darkness, where I la: Philosophy's reverse; and health's decay. The worm's inferior, and, in rank, beneath Were I as plump as stallid theology,

The dust I tread on, high to bear my brow, Wishing would waste me to this shade again. To drink the spirit of the golden day, Were I as wealthy as a South-sea dream,

And triumph in existence; and could know Wishing is an expedient to be poor.

No motive, but my bliss; and hast ordain'd Wishing, that constant hectic of a fool;

A rise in blessing! with the patriarch's joy, Caught at a court; purg'd off by purer air, Thy call I follow to the land unknown ; And simpler diet; gifts of rural life!

I trust in thee, and know in whom I trust; Blest be that hand divine, which gently laid Or life, or death, is equal; neither weighs : My heart at rest, beneath this humble shed. All weight in this—0 let me live to thee! The world's a stately bark, on dangerous seas, Though Nature's terrors, thus, may be represt; With pleasure seen, but boarded at our peril; Sull frowns grim Death ; guilt points the tyrant's Here, on a single plank, thrown safe ashore,

spear. I hear the tumult of the distant throng,

And whence all human guilt? From death forgot. As that of seas remote, or dying storms:

Ah me! too long I set at nought the swarm And meditate on scenes, more silent still;

of friendly warnings, which around me New; Pursue my theme, and fight the fear of death. And smil’d, unsmitten: small my cause to smile! Here, like a shepherd gazing from his hut,

Death's admonitions, like shafts upward shot, Touching his reed, or leaning on his staff, More dreadful by delay, the longer ere Eager ambition's fiery chase I see;

They strike our hearts, the deeper is their wound; I see the circling hunt, of noisy men,

O think how deep, Lorenzo! here it stings : Burst law's inclosure, leap the mounds of right, Who can appease its anguish? how it burns! Pursuing, and pursued, each other's prey;

What hand the barb’d, envenom'd thought can draw? As wolves, for rapine; as the fox, for wiles ; What healing hand can pour the balm of peace, Till Death, that mighty hunter, earths them all. And turn my sight undaunted on the tomb?

Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? With joy—with grief, that healing hand I see ; What though we wade in wealth, or soar in fame? Ah! too conspicuous! it is fix'd on high. Earth's highest station ends in, “ Ilere he lies," On high ?--What means my frenzy ? I blaspheme; And “ Dust to dust " concludes her noblest song. Alas! how low ! how far beneath the skies! If this song lives, posterity shall know

The skies it form'd; and now it bleeds for me One, though in Britain born, with courtiers bred, But bleeds the balm I wanı-Yet still it bleeds ; Who thought e'en gold might come a day too late; Draw the dire steel--ah no! the dreadful blessing Nor on his subile death-bed plann'd his scheme What heart or can sustain, or dares forego! For future vacancies in church or state ;

There hangs all human hope ; that nail supports Some avocation deeming it-o die,

The falling universe : that gone, we drop;

cross,

Horror receives us, and the dismal wish

The Sun beheld it—no, the shocking scene Creation had been smmother'd in her birth

Drove back his chariot: midnight veil'd his face; Darkness his curtain, and his bed the dust;

Not such as this; not such as Nature makes; When stars and Sun are dust beneath his throne ! A midnight Nature shudder'd to behold; In Heaven itself can such indulgence dwell? A midnight new! a dread eclipse (without O what a groan was there! a groan not his. Opposing spberes) from her Creator's frown! He seiz'd our dreadful right; the load sustain'd; Sun! didst thou fly thy Maker's pain ? Or start And heav'd the shountain from a guilty world. At that enormous load of human guilt, A thousand worlds, so bought, were bought too dear; Which bow'd his blessed head; o'erwhelm'd his cross; Sensations new in angels' bosoms rise ;

Made groan the centre; burst Earth's marble womb. Suspend their song! and make a pause in bliss. With pangs, strange pangs ! deliver'd of her dead?

O for their song; to reach my lofty theme ! Hell howlid; and Heaven that hour let fall a tear; Inspire me, Night! with all thy tuneful spheres ; Heaven wept, that men might smile! Heaven bled, Whilst I with seraphs share seraphic themes !

that man And show to men the dignity of man;

Might never die -
Lest I blaspheme my subject with my song. And is devotion virtue? "Tis compelld.
Shall Pagan pages glow celestial flame,

What heart of stone but glows at thoughts like these?
And Christian languish? on our hearts, not heads, Such contemplations mount us; and should mount
Falls the foul infamy: my heart! awake. The mind still higher; nor ever glance on man
What can awake thee, unawak'd by this, Unraptur’d, uninflam'd.—Where roll my thoughts
" Expended deity on human weal ?"

To rest from wonders ? other wonders rise ; Feel the great truths, which burst the tenfold night And strike where'er they roll: my soul is caught : Of heathen error, with a golden flood

Heaven's sovereign blessings, clustering from the Of endless day: to feel, is to be fir’d; And to believe, Lorenzo! is to feel.

Rush on her, in a throng, and ciose her round, Thou most indulgent, most tremendous Power! The prisoner of amaze -in his blest life Still more tremendous, for thy wondrous love! I I see the path, and in his death the price, That arms, with awe more awful, thy commands ; And in his great ascent the proof supreme And foul transgression dips in sevenfold night! Of immortality.--And did he rise ? How our hearts tremble at thy love immense ! Hear, 0 ye nations ! hear it, О ye dead ! In love immense, inviolably just!

He rose! be rose ! he burst the bars of death. Thou, rather than thy justice should be stain'd, Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates! Didst stain the cross; and work of wonders far And give the King of glory to come in. The greatest, that thy dearest far might bleed. Who is the King of glory ? he who left

Bold thought! shall I dare speak it, or repress ? His throne of glory, for the pang of death! Should man more execrale, or boast, the guilt Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates! Which rous'd such vengeance? which such love in- And give the King of glory to come in. flam'd ?

Who is the King of glory? he who slew
O'er guilt (how mountainous !) with outstretch'd arms, The ravenous foe, that gorg'd all human race !
Stern justice and soft-smiling love embrace, The King of glory, he, whose glory fillid
Supporting, in full majesty, thy throne,

Heaven with amazement at his love to man;
When seem'd its majesty to need support, And with divine complacency beheld
Or that, or man, inevitably lost ;

Powers most illumin'd, wilder'd in the theme.
What, but the fathomless of thought divine, The theme, the joy, how then shall man sustain ?
Could labor such expedient from despair,

Oh the burst gates! crush'd sting! demolish'd throne! And rescue both ? both rescue! both exalt! Last gasp! of vanquish'd Death. Shout Earth and O how are both exalted by the deed!

Heaven! The wondrous deed! or shall I call it more? This sum of good to man. Whose nature, then, A wonder in Omnipotence itself!

Took wing, and mounted with him from the tomb ! A mystery no less to gods than men!

Then, then, I rose; then first humanity
Not thus, our infidels the Eternal draw, Triumphant pass'd the crystal ports of light,
A God all o'er, consummate, absolute,

(Stupendous guest !) and seiz'd eternal youth,
Full-orb’d, in his whole round of rays complete : Seiz'd in our name. E’er since, 'tis blasphemous
They set at odds Heaven's jarring attributes ; To call man mortal. Man's mortality [ration
And, with one excellence, another wound; Was, then, transferr'd to death; and Heaven's du.
Maim Heaven's perfection, break its equal beams, Unalienably seal'd to this frail frame,
Bid mercy triumph over-God himself,

This child of dust-Man, all immortal! hail; Undeified by their opprobrious praise :

Hail, Heaven! ail lavish of strange gifts to man! A God all mercy, is a God unjust.

Thine all the glory; man's the boundless bliss. Ye brainless wits! ye baptiz'd infidels !

Where am I rapt by this triumphant theme, Ye worse for mending! wash'd to fouler stains ! On Christian joy's exulting wing, above The ransom was paid down; the fund of Heaven, Th’ Aonian mount? Alas! small cause for joy! Heaven's inexhaustible, exhausted fund,

What if to pain immortal ? if extent Amazing, and amaz’d, pour'd forth the price, Of being, to preclude a close of woe? All price beyond : though curious to compute, Where, then, my boast of immortality ? Archangels fail'd to cast the mighty sum : I boast it still, though cover'd o'er with guilt; Its value vast, ungrasp'd by minds create, For guilt, not innocence, his life he pour’d, For ever bides, and glows, in the Supreme. "Tis guilt alone can justify his death!

And was the ransom paid ? it was and paid Nor that, unless his death can justify (What can exalt the bounty more ?) for you! Relenting guilt in Heaven's indulgent sight

If, sick of folly, I relent; he writes

O most adorable! most unador'd! My name in Heaven, with that inverted spear Where shall thy praise begin, which ne'er should (A spear deep-dipt in blood !) which pierc'd his side,

end ? And open'd there a font for all mankind,

Where'er I turn, what claim on all applause !
Who strive, who combat crimes, 10 drink, and live: How is night's sable mantle labor'd o'er,
This, only this, subdues the fear of death. How richly wrought with attributes divine!

And what is this?--Survey the wondrous cure : What wisdom shines! what love! this midnight pomp, And at each step, let higher wonder rise!

This gorgeous arch, with golden worlds inlaid ! Pardon for infinite offence! and pardon

Built with divine ambition ! nought to thee;
Through means that speak its value infinite! For others this profusion : thoil, a part,
A pardon bought with blood! with blood divine! Above! beyond! O tell me, mighty Mind !
With blood divine of him I made my soe!

Where art thou? Shall I dive into the deep?
Persisted to provoke! though wood, and awd, Call to the Sun, or ask the roaring winds
Blest, and chastis'd, a flagrant rebel still!

For their Creator! Shall I question loud A rebel, 'midst the thunders of his throne !

The thunder, if in that th' Almighty dwells ? Nor I alone! a rebel universe !

Or holds he furious storms in straiten'd reins, My species up in arms! not one exempt!

And bids fierce whirlwinds wbeel his rapid car? Yet for the foulest of the foul he dies,

What mean these questions? Trembling, I retract; Most joy'd, for the redeem'd from deepest guilt! My prostrate soul adores the present God : As if our race were held of highest rank;

Praise I a distant deity? He tunes And Godhead dearer, as more to man !" My voice (if tund;) the nerve, that wi sustains :

Bound, every heart! and every bosom, burn! Wrapt in his being, I resound his praise :
O what a scale of miracles is here !

But though past all diffus'd, without a shore,
Its lowest round, high planted on the skies ; His essence ; local is his throne, (as meet,)
Its towering summit lost beyond the thought To gather the disperst, (as standards call
Or man or angel! O that I could climb

The listed from afar:) to fix a point,
The wonderful ascent, with equal praise !

A central point, collective of his sons, Praise! flow for ever (if astonishment

Since finite every nature but his own. Will give thee leave :) my praise! for ever flow; The nameless He, whose nod is Nature's birth; Praise ardeni, cordial, constant, to high Heaven And Nature's shield, the shadow of his hand; More fragrani, than Arabia sacrific'd,

Her dissolution, his suspended sinile !
And all her spicy mountains in a flame.

The great First-Last ! pavilion'd high he sits,
So dear, so due to Heaven, shall praise descend, In darkness from excessive splendor borne,
With her soft plume (from plausive angel's wing By gods unseen, unless through lustre lost.
First pluck'd by man) to tickle morial ears, His glory, to created glory, bright,
Thus diving in the pockets of the great?

As that 10 central horrors ; he looks down
Is praise the perquisite of every paw,

On all that soars; and spans immensity.
Though black as Hell, that grapples well for gold? Though night unnumber'd worlds unfolds to viev
Oh love of gold! thou meavest of amours !

Boundless creation! what art thou? A beam
Shall pruise her odors waste on virtues dead, A mere effluvium of bis majesty :
Embalm the base, perfume the stench of guilt, And shall an atom of this atom-world
Earn dirty bread by washing Ethiops fair,

Mutter, in dust and sin, the theme of Heaven? Removing filth, or sinking it from sight,

Down to the centre should I send my thought A scavenger in scenes, where vacant posts, Through beds of glittering ore, and glowing gems, Like gibbels yet untenanted, expect

Their beggar'd blaze wanis lustre for my lay ; Their future ornaments? From courts and thrones, Goes out in darliness : if, on towering wing, Return, apostale Praise ! thou vagabond !

I send it through the boundless vault of stars ! Thou prostitute! to thy first love returu,

The stars, though rich, what dross their gold to thee. Thy first, thy greatest, once unrival'd theme. Great! good! wise! wonderful! eternal King!

There flow redundant; like Meander, flow If to those conscious stars thy throne around,
Back to thy fountain ; 10 that Parent Power, Praise ever-pouring, and imbibing bliss;
Who gives the tongue to sound, the thought to soar, And ask their strain; they want it, more they want,
The soul to be. Men homage pay to men,

Poor their abundance, humble their sublime,
Thoughtless beneath whose dreadful eye they bow Languid their energy, their ardor cold,
In mutual awe profound of clay to clay,

Indebted still, their highest rapture burns ;
Of guilt to guilt; and turn their back on thee, Short of its mark, defective, though divine.
Great Sire! whom thrones celestial ceaseless sing : Still more-This theme is man's, and man's alone
To prostrate angels, an amazing scene!

Their vast appointments reach it not: they see O the presumption of man's awe for man! On Earth a bounty nou indulg'd on high ; Man's Author! End! Restorer! Law! and Judge! And downward look for Heaven's superior praise ! Thine, all; day thine, and thine this gloom of night, First-born of ether! high in fields of light! With all her wealth, with all her radiant worlds: View man, to see the glory of your God! What, night eternal, but a frown from thee? Could angels envy, they had envied here ; What, Heaven's meridian glory, but thy sinile? And some did envy; and the rest, though gods, And shall not praise be thine, not human praise ? Yet still gods unredeem'd, (there triumphs man, While Heaven's high host on hallelujahs live? Templed to weigh the dust against the skies.)

O may I breathe no longer than I breathe They less would feel, though more adorn, my theme. My sonl in praise to him, who gave my soul, They sung Creation (for in that they shardi) And all her infinite of prospect fair,

How rose in melody, that child of love! Cut through the shades of Hell, greal love! by thee, Creation's great superior, man! is thine ;