What n.o.ble vanities, what moral flights, Glittering through their romantic wisdom's page, Make us at once despise them, and admire?

Fable is flat to these high-season'd sires; 570 They leave th' extravagance of song below.

"Flesh shall not feel; or, feeling, shall enjoy The dagger, or the rack; to them, alike 573 A bed of roses, or the burning bull."

In men exploding all beyond the grave, Strange doctrine, this! As doctrine, it was strange; But not, as prophecy; for such it proved, And, to their own amazement, was fulfill'd: They feign'd a firmness Christians need not feign.

The Christian truly triumph'd in the flame: 580 The Stoic saw, in double wonder lost, Wonder at them, and wonder at himself, To find the bold adventures of his thought Not bold, and that he strove to lie in vain.

Whence, then, those thoughts? those towering thoughts, that flew Such monstrous heights?--From instinct, and from pride.

The glorious instinct of a deathless soul, Confusedly conscious of her dignity, Suggested truths they could not understand.

In l.u.s.t's dominion, and in Pa.s.sion's storm, 590 Truth's system broken, scatter'd fragments lay, As light in chaos, glimmering through the gloom: Smit with the pomp of lofty sentiments, Pleased Pride proclaim'd, what Reason disbelieved.

Pride, like the Delphic priestess, with a swell, Raved nonsense, destined to be future sense, When life immortal, in full day, shall shine; And death's dark shadows fly the Gospel sun.

They spoke, what nothing but immortal souls Could speak; and thus the truth they question'd, proved.

Can then absurdities, as well as crimes, 601 Speak man immortal? All things speak him so.

Much has been urged; and dost thou call for more?

Call; and with endless questions be distress'd, All unresolvable, if earth is all.

"Why life, a moment; infinite, desire? 606 Our wish, eternity? Our home, the grave?

Heaven's promise dormant lies in human hope; Who wishes life immortal, proves it too.

Why happiness pursued, though never found?

Man's thirst of happiness declares it is, (For nature never gravitates to nought); That thirst unquench'd declares it is not here. 613 My Lucia, thy Clarissa call to thought; Why cordial friendship riveted so deep, As hearts to pierce at first, at parting, rend, If friend, and friendship, vanish in an hour?

Is not this torment in the mask of joy?

Why by reflection marr'd the joys of sense?

Why past, and future, preying on our hearts, 620 And putting all our present joys to death?

Why labours Reason? Instinct were as well; Instinct far better; what can choose, can err: O how infallible the thoughtless brute!

'Twere well his Holiness were half as sure.

Reason with inclination, why at war?

Why sense of guilt? why Conscience up in arms?"

Conscience of guilt, is prophecy of pain, And bosom-council to decline the blow.

Reason with inclination ne'er had jarr'd, 630 If nothing future paid forbearance here: Thus on--these, and a thousand pleas uncall'd, All promise, some insure, a second scene; Which, were it doubtful, would be dearer far Than all things else most certain; were it false, What truth on earth so precious as the lie?

This world it gives us, let what will ensue; This world it gives, in that high cordial, hope: The future of the present is the soul.

How this life groans, when sever'd from the next! 640 Poor mutilated wretch, that disbelieves!

By dark distrust his being cut in two, In both parts perishes; life void of joy, Sad prelude of eternity in pain!

Couldst thou persuade me, the next life could fail Our ardent wishes; how should I pour out My bleeding heart in anguish, new, as deep!

Oh! with what thoughts, thy hope, and my despair, Abhorr'd annihilation! blasts the soul, And wide extends the bounds of human woe! 650 Could I believe Lorenzo's system true, In this black channel would my ravings run: "Grief from the future borrow'd peace, erewhile.

The future vanish'd! and the present pain'd!

Strange import of unprecedented ill!

Fall, how profound! Like Lucifer's, the fall!

Unequal fate! his fall, without his guilt!

From where fond Hope built her pavilion high, The G.o.ds among, hurl'd headlong, hurl'd at once To night! to nothing! darker still than night. 660 If 'twas a dream, why wake me, my worst foe, Lorenzo! boastful of the name of friend?

O for delusion! O for error still!

Could vengeance strike much stronger than to plant A thinking being in a world like this, Not over-rich before, now beggar'd quite; More cursed than at the fall?--The sun goes out!

The thorns shoot up! What thorns in every thought!

Why sense of better? It embitters worse.

Why sense? why life? If but to sigh, then sink 670 To what I was! twice nothing! and much woe!

Woe, from Heaven's bounties! woe from what was wont To flatter most, high intellectual powers.

Thought, virtue, knowledge!--blessings, by thy scheme, All poison'd into pains. First, knowledge, once 675 My soul's ambition, now her greatest dread.

To know myself, true wisdom?--No, to shun That shocking science, parent of despair!

Avert thy mirror: if I see, I die.

"Know my Creator! climb his bless'd abode By painful speculation, pierce the veil, Dive in his nature, read his attributes, And gaze in admiration--on a foe, 683 Obtruding life, withholding happiness!

From the full rivers that surround his throne, Not letting fall one drop of joy on man; Man gasping for one drop, that he might cease To curse his birth, nor envy reptiles more!

Ye sable clouds! ye darkest shades of night!

Hide him, for ever hide him, from my thought, 690 Once all my comfort; source, and soul of joy!

Now leagued with furies, and with thee,[36] against me.

"Know his achievements? study his renown?

Contemplate this amazing universe, Dropp'd from his hand, with miracles replete!

For what? 'Mid miracles of n.o.bler name, To find one miracle of misery?

To find the being, which alone can know And praise his works, a blemish on his praise?

Through nature's ample range, in thought, to stroll, 700 And start at man, the single mourner there, Breathing high hope, chain'd down to pangs, and death?

Knowing is suffering: and shall Virtue share The sigh of knowledge?--Virtue shares the sigh.

By straining up the steep of excellent, By battles fought, and, from temptation won, What gains she, but the pang of seeing worth, 707 Angelic worth, soon shuffled in the dark With every vice, and swept to brutal dust?

Merit is madness; virtue is a crime; A crime to reason, if it costs us pain Unpaid: what pain, amidst a thousand more, To think the most abandon'd, after days 713 Of triumph o'er their betters, find in death As soft a pillow, nor make fouler clay!

"Duty! Religion!--these, our duty done, Imply reward. Religion is mistake.

Duty!--there's none, but to repel the cheat.

Ye cheats, away! ye daughters of my pride!

Who feign yourselves the favourites of the skies: 720 Ye towering hopes! abortive energies!

That toss, and struggle, in my lying breast, To scale the skies, and build presumptions there, As I were heir of an eternity.

Vain, vain ambitions! trouble me no more.

Why travel far in quest of sure defeat?

As bounded as my being, be my wish.

All is inverted; wisdom is a fool.

Sense! take the rein; blind Pa.s.sion! drive us on; And, Ignorance! befriend us on our way; 730 Ye new, but truest patrons of our peace!

Yes; give the pulse full empire; live the brute, Since, as the brute, we die. The sum of man, Of G.o.dlike man! to revel, and to rot.

"But not on equal terms with other brutes: Their revels a more poignant relish yield, And safer too; they never poisons choose.

Instinct, than reason, makes more wholesome meals, And sends all-marring murmur far away.

For sensual life they best philosophize; 740 Theirs, that serene, the sages sought in vain: 741 'Tis man alone expostulates with Heaven; His all the power, and all the cause, to mourn.

Shall human eyes alone dissolve in tears?

And bleed, in anguish, none but human hearts?

The wide-stretch'd realm of intellectual woe, Surpa.s.sing sensual far, is all our own.

In life so fatally distinguish'd, why Cast in one lot, confounded, lump'd, in death?

"Ere yet in being, was mankind in guilt? 750 Why thunder'd this peculiar clause against us, All-mortal, and all-wretched!--Have the skies Reasons of state, their subjects may not scan, Nor humbly reason, when they sorely sigh?

All-mortal, and all-wretched!--'Tis too much: Unparallell'd in nature: 'tis too much On being unrequested at thy hands, Omnipotent! for I see nought but power.

"And why see that? Why thought? To toil, and eat, Then make our bed in darkness, needs no thought. 760 What superfluities are reasoning souls!

Oh give eternity! or thought destroy.

But without thought our curse were half unfelt; Its blunted edge would spare the throbbing heart; And, therefore, 'tis bestow'd, I thank thee, Reason!

For aiding life's too small calamities, And giving being to the dread of Death.

Such are thy bounties!--was it then too much For me, to trespa.s.s on the brutal rights?

Too much for Heaven to make one emmet more? 770 Too much for chaos to permit my ma.s.s A longer stay with essences unwrought, Unfashion'd, untormented into man?

Wretched preferment to this round of pains!

Wretched capacity of phrensy, thought! 775 Wretched capacity of dying, life!

Life, thought, worth, wisdom, all (O foul revolt!) Once friends to peace, gone over to the foe.

"Death, then, has changed his nature too: O Death!

Come to my bosom, thou best gift of Heaven!

Best friend of man! since man is man no more.

Why in this th.o.r.n.y wilderness so long, Since there's no promised land's ambrosial bower, 783 To pay me with its honey for my stings?

If needful to the selfish schemes of Heaven To sting us sore, why mock'd our misery?

Why this so sumptuous insult o'er our heads?

Why this ill.u.s.trious canopy display'd?

Why so magnificently lodged Despair?

At stated periods, sure returning, roll 790 These glorious...o...b.., that mortals may compute Their length of labours, and of pains; nor lose Their misery's full measure?--Smiles with flowers, And fruits, promiscuous, ever-teeming earth, That man may languish in luxurious scenes, And in an Eden mourn his wither'd joys?

Claim earth and skies man's admiration, due For such delights! Blest animals! too wise To wonder, and too happy to complain!

"Our doom decreed demands a mournful scene: 800 Why not a dungeon dark, for the condemn'd?

Why not the dragon's subterranean den, For man to howl in? Why not his abode Of the same dismal colour with his fate?

A Thebes, a Babylon, at vast expence Of time, toil, treasure, art, for owls and adders, As congruous as, for man, this lofty dome, Which prompts proud thought, and kindles high desire; If, from her humble chamber in the dust, 809 While proud thought swells, and high desire inflames, The poor worm calls us for her inmates there; And, round us, Death's inexorable hand Draws the dark curtain close; undrawn no more.