Is earth, then, more infernal? Has she those, Who neither praise (Lorenzo!) nor admire?

Lorenzo's admiration, pre-engaged, Ne'er ask'd the moon one question; never held Least correspondence with a single star; Ne'er rear'd an altar to the Queen of Heaven Walking in brightness; or her train adored.

Their sublunary rivals have long since Engross'd his whole devotion; stars malign, 1650 Which made the fond astronomer run mad; Darken his intellect, corrupt his heart; Cause him to sacrifice his fame and peace To momentary madness, call'd delight.

Idolater, more gross than ever kiss'd The lifted hand to Luna, or pour'd out The blood to Jove!--O Thou, to whom belongs All sacrifice! O Thou Great Jove unfeign'd!

Divine Instructor! Thy first volume, this, For man's perusal; all in capitals! 1660 In moon, and stars (heaven's golden alphabet!) Emblazed to seize the sight; who runs, may read; Who reads, can understand. 'Tis unconfined To Christian land, or Jewry; fairly writ, In language universal, to mankind: A language, lofty to the learn'd: yet plain To those that feed the flock, or guide the plough, Or, from his husk, strike out the bounding grain.

A language, worthy the Great Mind, that speaks!

Preface, and comment, to the sacred page! 1670 Which oft refers its reader to the skies, As presupposing his first lesson there, And Scripture self a fragment, that unread.

Stupendous book of wisdom, to the wise! 1674 Stupendous book! and open'd, Night! by thee.

By thee much open'd, I confess, O Night!

Yet more I wish; but how shall I prevail?

Say, gentle Night! whose modest, maiden beams Give us a new creation, and present The world's great picture soften'd to the sight; Nay, kinder far, far more indulgent still, Say, thou, whose mild dominion's silver key 1682 Unlocks our hemisphere, and sets to view Worlds beyond number; worlds conceal'd by day Behind the proud and envious star of noon!

Canst thou not draw a deeper scene?--and show The mighty Potentate, to whom belong These rich regalia pompously display'd To kindle that high hope? Like him of Uz,[71]

I gaze around; I search on every side-- 1690 O for a glimpse of Him my soul adores!

As the chased hart, amid the desert waste, Pants for the living stream; for Him who made her, So pants the thirsty soul, amid the blank Of sublunary joys. Say, G.o.ddess! where?

Where blazes His bright court? where burns His throne?

Thou know'st; for thou art near Him; by thee, round His grand pavilion, sacred fame reports The sable curtain drawn. If not, can none Of thy fair daughter train, so swift of wing, 1700 Who travel far, discover where He dwells?

A star His dwelling pointed out below.

Ye Pleiades! Arcturus! Mazaroth!

And thou, Orion! of still keener eye!

Say ye, who guide the wilder'd in the waves, And bring them out of tempest into port! 1706 On which hand must I bend my course to find Him?

These courtiers keep the secret of their King; I wake whole nights, in vain, to steal it from them.

I wake; and, waking, climb Night's radiant scale, From sphere to sphere; the steps by nature set For man's ascent; at once to tempt and aid; To tempt his eye, and aid his towering thought; 1713 Till it arrives at the great goal of all.

In ardent Contemplation's rapid car, From earth, as from my barrier, I set out.

How swift I mount! Diminish'd earth recedes; I pa.s.s the moon; and, from her farther side, Pierce heaven's blue curtain; strike into remote; Where, with his lifted tube, the subtle sage 1720 His artificial, airy journey takes, And to celestial lengthens human sight.

I pause at every planet on my road, And ask for Him who gives their orbs to roll, Their foreheads fair to shine. From Saturn's ring, In which, of earths an army might be lost, With the bold comet, take my bolder flight, Amid those sovereign glories of the skies, Of independent, native l.u.s.tre, proud; The souls of systems! and the lords of life, 1730 Through their wide empires!--What behold I now?

A wilderness of wonder burning round; Where larger suns inhabit higher spheres; Perhaps the villas of descending G.o.ds; Nor halt I here; my toil is but begun; 'Tis but the threshold of the Deity; Or, far beneath it, I am grovelling still.

Nor is it strange; I built on a mistake; The grandeur of his works, whence folly sought For aid, to reason sets his glory higher; 1740 Who built thus high for worms (mere worms to Him), Oh, where, Lorenzo! must the Builder dwell?

Pause, then; and, for a moment, here respire-- If human thought can keep its station here.

Where am I?--Where is earth?--Nay, where art thou, O sun?--Is the sun turn'd recluse?--and are His boasted expeditions short to mine?-- To mine, how short! On nature's Alps I stand, And see a thousand firmaments beneath!

A thousand systems! as a thousand grains! 1750 So much a stranger, and so late arrived, How can man's curious spirit not inquire, What are the natives of this world sublime, Of this so foreign, unterrestrial sphere, Where mortal, untranslated, never stray'd?

"O ye, as distant from my little home, As swiftest sunbeams in an age can fly!

Far from my native element I roam, In quest of new, and wonderful, to man.

What province this, of His immense domain, 1760 Whom all obeys? Or mortals here, or G.o.ds?

Ye borderers on the coasts of bliss! what are you?

A colony from heaven? or, only raised, By frequent visit from heaven's neighbouring realms, To secondary G.o.ds, and half divine?-- Whate'er your nature, this is past dispute, Far other life you live, far other tongue You talk, far other thought, perhaps, you think, Than man. How various are the works of G.o.d?

But say, what thought? Is Reason here enthroned, 1770 And absolute? or Sense in arms against her?

Have you two lights? Or need you no reveal'd?

Enjoy your happy realms their golden age?

And had your Eden an abstemious Eve? 1774 Our Eve's fair daughters prove their pedigree, And ask their Adams--'Who would not be wise?'

Or, if your mother fell, are you redeem'd?

And if redeem'd--is your Redeemer scorn'd?

Is this your final residence? If not, Change you your scene, translated? or by death?

And if by death; what death?--Know you disease?

Or horrid war?--With war, this fatal hour, 1782 Europa groans (so call we a small field, Where kings run mad). In our world, Death deputes Intemperance to do the work of Age; And hanging up the quiver Nature gave him, As slow of execution, for despatch Sends forth imperial butchers; bids them slay Their sheep (the silly sheep they fleeced before), And toss him twice ten thousand at a meal. 1790 Sit all your executioners on thrones?

With you, can rage for plunder make a G.o.d?

And bloodshed wash out every other stain?-- But you, perhaps, can't bleed: from matter gross Your spirits clean, are delicately clad In fine-spun ether, privileged to soar, Unloaded, uninfected; how unlike The lot of man! how few of human race By their own mud unmurder'd! how we wage Self-war eternal!--Is your painful day 1800 Of hardy conflict o'er? or, are you still Raw candidates at school? and have you those Who disaffect reversions, as with us?-- But what are we? You never heard of man; Or earth, the bedlam of the universe!

Where Reason (undiseased with you) runs mad, And nurses Folly's children as her own; Fond of the foulest. In the sacred mount 1808 Of holiness, where Reason is p.r.o.nounced Infallible; and thunders, like a G.o.d; Even there, by saints, the demons are outdone; What these think wrong, our saints refine to right; And kindly teach dull h.e.l.l her own black arts; Satan, instructed, o'er their morals smiles.-- But this, how strange to you, who know not man!

Has the least rumour of our race arrived?

Call'd here Elijah in his flaming car?

Pa.s.s'd by you the good Enoch, on his road To those fair fields, whence Lucifer was hurl'd; Who brush'd, perhaps, your sphere in his descent, 1820 Stain'd your pure crystal ether, or let fall A short eclipse from his portentous shade?

O that the fiend had lodged on some broad orb Athwart his way; nor reach'd his present home, Then blacken'd earth with footsteps foul'd in h.e.l.l, Nor wash'd in ocean, as from Rome he pa.s.s'd To Britain's isle; too, too, conspicuous there!"

But this is all digression: where is He, That o'er heaven's battlements the felon hurl'd To groans, and chains, and darkness? Where is He, 1830 Who sees creation's summit in a vale?

He, whom, while man is man, he can't but seek; And if he finds, commences more than man?

O for a telescope His throne to reach!

Tell me, ye learn'd on earth! or blest above!

Ye searching, ye Newtonian angels! tell.

Where, your Great Master's...o...b.. His planets, where?

Those conscious satellites, those morning stars, First-born of Deity! from central love, By veneration most profound, thrown off; 1840 By sweet attraction, no less strongly drawn; Awed, and yet raptured; raptured, yet serene; 1842 Past thought ill.u.s.trious, but with borrow'd beams; In still approaching circles, still remote, Revolving round the sun's eternal Sire?

Or sent, in lines direct, on emba.s.sies To nations--in what lat.i.tude?--Beyond Terrestrial thought's horizon!--And on what High errands sent?--Here human effort ends; And leaves me still a stranger to His throne. 1850 Full well it might! I quite mistook my road.

Born in an age more curious than devout; More fond to fix the place of heaven, or h.e.l.l, Than studious this to shun, or that secure.

'Tis not the curious, but the pious path, That leads me to my point: Lorenzo! know, Without or star, or angel, for their guide, Who worship G.o.d, shall find him. Humble Love, And not proud Reason, keeps the door of heaven; Love finds admission, where proud Science fails. 1860 Man's science is the culture of his heart; And not to lose his plummet in the depths Of nature, or the more profound of G.o.d.

Either to know, is an attempt that sets The wisest on a level with the fool.

To fathom nature (ill attempted here!) Past doubt is deep philosophy above; Higher degrees in bliss archangels take, As deeper learn'd; the deepest, learning still.

For, what a thunder of omnipotence 1870 (So might I dare to speak) is seen in all!

In man! in earth! in more amazing skies!

Teaching this lesson, Pride is loath to learn-- "Not deeply to discern, not much to know, Mankind was born to wonder, and adore."

And is there cause for higher wonder still, 1876 Than that which struck us from our past surveys?

Yes; and for deeper adoration too.

From my late airy travel unconfined, Have I learn'd nothing?--Yes, Lorenzo! this: Each of these stars is a religious house; I saw their altars smoke, their incense rise; And heard hosannas ring through every sphere, 1883 A seminary fraught with future G.o.ds.

Nature all o'er is consecrated ground, Teeming with growths immortal, and divine.

The Great Proprietor's all-bounteous hand Leaves nothing waste; but sows these fiery fields With seeds of reason, which to virtues rise Beneath His genial ray; and, if escaped 1890 The pestilential blasts of stubborn will, When grown mature, are gather'd for the skies.

And is devotion thought too much on earth, When beings, so superior, homage boast, And triumph in prostrations to the Throne?

But wherefore more of planets, or of stars?

Ethereal journeys, and, discover'd there, Ten thousand worlds, ten thousand ways devout, All nature sending incense to the Throne, Except the bold Lorenzos of our sphere? 1900 Opening the solemn sources of my soul, Since I have pour'd, like feign'd Erida.n.u.s,[72]

My flowing numbers o'er the flaming skies, Nor see, of fancy, or of fact, what more Invites the Muse.--Here turn we, and review Our past nocturnal landscape wide:--then say, Say, then, Lorenzo! with what burst of heart, The whole, at once, revolving in his thought, Must man exclaim, adoring, and aghast? 1909 "Oh, what a root! Oh, what a branch, is here!

Oh, what a Father! what a family!

Worlds! systems! and creations!--and creations, In one agglomerated cl.u.s.ter, hung, Great Vine![73] on Thee, on Thee the cl.u.s.ter hangs; The filial cl.u.s.ter! infinitely spread In glowing globes, with various being fraught; And drinks (nectareous draught!) immortal life.

Or, shall I say (for who can say enough?) A constellation of ten thousand gems, (And, oh! of what dimension! of what weight!) 1920 Set in one signet, flames on the right hand Of Majesty Divine! The blazing seal, That deeply stamps, on all created mind, Indelible, His sovereign attributes, Omnipotence, and love! that, pa.s.sing bound: And this, surpa.s.sing that. Nor stop we here, For want of power in G.o.d, but thought in man.

Even this acknowledged, leaves us still in debt: If greater aught, that greater all is Thine, Dread Sire!--Accept this miniature of Thee; 1930 And pardon an attempt from mortal thought, In which archangels might have fail'd, unblamed."

How such ideas of th' Almighty's power, And such ideas of th' Almighty's plan (Ideas not absurd), distend the thought Of feeble mortals! Nor of them alone!

The fulness of the Deity breaks forth In inconceivables to men, and G.o.ds.

Think, then, oh, think; nor ever drop the thought; How low must man descend, when G.o.ds adore! 1940 Have I not, then, accomplish'd my proud boast?

Did I not tell thee, "We would mount, Lorenzo! 1942 And kindle our devotion at the stars"?

And have I fail'd? and did I flatter thee?

And art all adamant? and dost confute All urged, with one irrefragable smile?

Lorenzo! mirth how miserable here!

Swear by the stars, by Him who made them, swear, Thy heart, henceforth, shall be as pure as they: Then thou, like them, shalt shine; like them, shalt rise From low to lofty; from obscure to bright; 1951 By due gradation, Nature's sacred law.

The stars, from whence?--Ask Chaos--he can tell.

These bright temptations to idolatry, From darkness, and confusion, took their birth; Sons of deformity! from fluid dregs Tartarean, first they rose to ma.s.ses rude; And then, to spheres opaque; then dimly shone; Then brighten'd; then blazed out in perfect day.

Nature delights in progress; in advance 1960 From worse to better: but, when minds ascend, Progress, in part, depends upon themselves.

Heaven aids exertion; greater makes the great; The voluntary little lessens more.

Oh, be a man! and thou shalt be a G.o.d!

And half self-made!--Ambition how divine!

O thou, ambitious of disgrace alone!

Still undevout? unkindled?--Though high-taught, School'd by the skies, and pupil of the stars; Rank coward to the fashionable world! 1970 Art thou ashamed to bend thy knee to heaven?

Cursed fume of pride, exhaled from deepest h.e.l.l!

Pride in religion is man's highest praise.

Bent on destruction! and in love with death!

Not all these luminaries, quench'd at once, Were half so sad, as one benighted mind, 1976 Which gropes for happiness, and meets despair.

How, like a widow in her weeds, the Night, Amid her glimmering tapers, silent sits!