Flows in at once; in ages they no more
Could know, or do, or covet, or enjoy.
Were man to live coëval with the fun,
The patriarch-pupil would be learning still;
Yet, dying, leave his leffon half-unlearnt.
Men perish in advance, as if the fun
Should fet ere noon, in eastern oceans drown'd;
If fit, with dim, illuftrious to compare,
The fun's meridian with the foul of man.
To man, why, stepdame nature! fo severe ?
Why thrown afide thy mafter piece half-wrought,
While meaner efforts thy laft hand enjoy ?
Or, if abortively, poor man must die,
Nor reach, what reach he might, why die in dread?
Why curft with forefight? Wife to mifery ?
Why of his proud prerogative the prey?
Why lefs pre-eminent in rank, than pain?
His immortality alone can tell ;
-Full ample fund to balance all amifs,
And turn the scale in favour of the juft!
His immortality alone can folve
That darkest of ænigmas, human hope;
Of all the darkeft, if at death we die.
Hope, eager hope, th' affaffin of our joy,
All present bleffings treading under foot,
Is fcarce a milder tyrant than defpair.
With no paft toils content, ftill planning new,
Hope turns us o'er to death alone for ease.
Poffeffion, why, more taftelefs than pursuit ?
Why is a wifh far dearer than a crown ?
That wish accomplish'd, why, the grave of bliss?
Becaufe, in the great future bury'd deep,
Beyond our plans of empire, and renown,
Lies all that man with ardor fhould purfue;
And HE who made him, bent him to the right
Man's heart th' ALMIGHTY to the future fets,
By fecret and inviolable springs;
And makes his hope his fublunary joy.
Man's heart eats all things, and is hungry still;
"More, more!" the glutton cries: For fomething neo
So rages appetite, if man can't mount,
He will defcend. He ftarves on the poffeft.
Hence, the world's mafter, from ambition's fpire,
In Caprea plung'd; and div'd beneath the brute.
In that rank fty why wallow'd empire's fon
Supreme? Because he could no higher fly;
His riot was ambition in defpair.
Old Rome confulted birds; LORENZO thou
With more fuccefs, the flight of hope furvey;
Of restless hope, for ever on the wing.
High-perch'd o'er ev'ry thought that falcon fits,
To fly at all that rifes in her fight;
And, never ftooping, but to mount again
Next moment, fhe betrays her aim's mistake,
And owns her quarry lodg'd beyond the grave.
There fhould it fail us. (It muft fail us there,
If being fails) more mournful riddles rife,
And virtue vies with hape in mystery.
Why virtue? Where its praife, its being, fled?
Virtue is true felf-intereft purfa'd
What true felf-intereft of quite-mortal man?
To close with all that makes him happy here.
If vice (as fometimes) is our friend on earth,
Then vice is virtue; 'tis our foreign good.
In felf-applaufe is virtue's golden prize;
No felf applaufe attends it on thy scheme:
Whence felf-applaufe? From confcience of the right.
And what is right, but means of happiness?
No means of happiness when virtue yields;
That bafis failing, falls the building too,
And lays in ruin ev'ry virtuous joy.
The rigid guardian of a blameless heart,.
So long rever'd, fo long reputed wife,
Is weak; with rank knight-errantries o'er-run.
Why beats thy bofom with illuftrious dreams
Of felf-expofure, laudable, and great?
Of gallant enterprize, and glorious death?
Die for thy country ?-Thou romantic fool!
Seize, feize the plank thyself, and let her fink:
Thy country! what to Thee?-The Godhead, what?
(I speak with awe!) tho' He fhould bid thee bleed
If, with thy blood, thy final hope is fpilt,
Nor can omnipotence reward the blow,
Be deaf; preferve thy being; disobey.
Nor is it difobedience: Know, LORENZO!
Whate'er th' ALMIGHTY'S fubfequent command,
His first command is this:-" Man, love thyfelf."
In this alone, free-agents are not free.
Existence is the bafis, blifs the prize;
If virtue cofts existence, 'tis a crime;
Bold violation of our law fupreme,
Black fuicide; tho' nations, which confult
Their gain, at thy expence, refound applause.
Since virtue's recompence is doubtful, here,
If man dies wholly, well may we demand,
Why is man fuffer'd to be good in vain?
Why to be good in vain, is man injoin'd?
Why to be good in vain, is man betray'd?
Betray'd by traitors lodg'd in his own breast,
By fweet complacencies from virtue felt?
Why whispers nature lyes on virtue's part?
Or if blind inftinct (which affumes the name
Of facred confcience) plays the fool in man,
Why reafon made accomplice in the cheat?
Why are the wifeft loudeft in her praise?
Can man by reafon's beam be led aftray?
Or, at his peril, imitate his God?
Since virtue fometimes ruins us on earth,
Or both are true; or, man furvives the grave.
Or man furvives the grave, or own, LORENZO,
Thy boaft fupreme, a wild abfurdity.
Dauntless thy fpirit; cowards are thy scorn.
Grant man immortal, and thy fcorn is juft.
The man immortal, rationally brave,
Dares rush on death-because he cannot die.
But if man lofes All, when life is loft,
He lives a coward, or a fool expires.
A daring infidel (and fuch there are,
From pride, example, lucre, rage, revenge,
Or pure heroical defect of thought),
Of all earth's madmen, most deserves a chain.
When to the grave we follow the renown'd For valour, virtue, fcience, all we love,
And all we praife; for werth, whofe noon-tide beam, Enabling us to think in higher style,
Mends our ideas of ethereal powers;
Dream we, that luftre of the moral world
Goes out in ftench, and rottenness the close ?
Why was he wife to know, and warm to praife,
And ftrenuous to transcribe, in human life,
The Mind ALMIGHTY? Could it be, that fate,
Juft when the lineaments began to fhine,
And dawn the DEITY, fhould fnatch the draught,
With night eternal blot it out, and give
The skies alarm, left angels too might die ?
If human fouls, why not angelic too
Extinguish'd and a folitary GOD,
O'er ghastly ruin, frowning from his throne?
Shall we this moment gaze on GOD in man?
The next, lofe man for ever in the duft?
From duft we difengage, or man mistakes;
And there, where leaft his judgment fears a flaw.
Wisdom and worth, how boldly he commends!
Wisdom and worth, are facred names; rever'd,
Where not embrac'd; applauded! deify'd!
Why not compaffion'd too? If fpirits die,
Both are calamities, inflicted both,
To make us but more wretched: Wisdom's eye
Acute, for what? To fpy more miferies;
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