Though much, and warm, the wise have urg'd; the man

Is yet unborn who duly weighs an hour.
"I've lost a day"-the prince who nobly cry'd,
Had been an emperor without his crown:
He spoke, as if deputed by mankind.
So should all speak: so reason speaks in all :
From the soft whispers of that God in man,
Why fly to folly, why to phrensy fly,
For rescue from the blessings we possess?
Time, the supreme !-Time is eternity;
Pregnant with all eternity can give,
Pregnant with all that makes archangels smile.
Who murders time, he crushes in the birth
A pow'r ethereal, only not ador'd.

§ 147. Inconsistency of Man.

AH! how unjust to nature, and himself,
Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent man!
Like children babbling nonsense in their sports,
We censure nature for a span too short;
That span too short, we tax as tedious too;
Torture invention, all expedients tire,
To lash the ling'ring moments into speed,
And whirl us (happy riddance) from ourselves.
Art, brainless art! our furious charioteer,
Drives headlong towards the precipice of death.
Death, most our dread, death thus more dreadful
O what a riddle of absurdity!
[made.
Leisure is pain! takes off our chariot wheels:
How heavily we drag the load of life!
Blest leisure is our curse; like that of Cain,
It makes us wander; wander earth around
To fly that tyrant, Thought. As Atlas groan'd
The world beneath, we groan beneath an hour.
We cry for mercy to the next amusement:
Yet when Death kindly tenders us relief,
We call him cruel; years to moments shrink.
Time, in advance, behind him hides his wings.
And seems to creep, decrepit with his age;
Behold him, when past by; what then is seen
But his broad pinions swifter than the winds?
And all mankind, in contradiction strong,
Rueful, aghast! cry out at his career.

§ 148. Waste of Time.

Here, then, the riddle, mark'd above, unfolds; Then time turns torment, when man turns a fool. We rave, we wrestle with great nature's plan; We thwart the Deity; and 'tis decreed, Who thwart his will, shall contradict their own. Hence our unnatural quarrel with ourselves; Our thoughts at enmity; our bosom-broil. We push time from us; and we wish him back; Life we think long, and short; death seek, and Oh the dark days of vanity! while here, [shun. How tasteless! and how terrible when gone! Gone? they ne'er go; when past, they haunt us The spirit walks of ev'ry Day deceas'd, [still; And smiles an angel, or a fury frowns. Nor death nor life delights us. If time past, And time possest, both pain us, what can please? That which the Deity to please ordain'd, Time us'd. The man who consecrates his hours, By vigorous effort, and an honest aim, At once he draws the sting of life and death: He walks with nature; and her paths are peace.

Our error's cause, and cure, are seen: see next
Time's nature, origin, importance, speed,
And thy great gain from urging his career.-
He looks on time as nothing: Nothing else
Is truly man's: what wonders can he do?
And will: to stand blank neuter he disdains.
Not on those terms was time (heaven's stranger!)
On his important embassy to man. [sent
When the dread sire, on emanation bent,
And big with nature, rising in his might,
Call'd forth creation (for then time was born),
ByGodhead streaming through a thousand worlds:
Not on those terms, from the great days of heaven,
From old eternity's mysterious orb,
Was time cut off; and cast beneath the skies:
The skies which watch him in his new abode,
Measuring his motions by revolving spheres:
Hours, days, and months, and years, his chil
dren, play

Like numerous wings, around him, as he flies:
Or rather, as unequal plumes, they shape
His ample pinions, swift as darted flame,
To gain his goal, to reach his ancient rest,
And join anew eternity his sire; [hing'd
When worlds, that count his circles now, un-
(Fate the loud signal sounding) headlong rush
To timeless night, and chaos, whence they rose.

Why spur the speedy? why with levities
New-wing thy short, short day's too rapid flight?
Man flies from time, and time from man: too
In sad divorce this double flight must end; [soon
And then, where are we? where, Lorenzo!

then,

Thy sports? thy pomp? ?-I grant thee, in a state
Not unambitious; in the ruffled shroud,
Thy Parian tomb's triumphant arch beneath.
Has death his fopperies? Then well may life
Put on her plume, and in her rainbow shine.

$149. False Delicacy.

Ye well-array'd! ye lilies of our land!
Ye lilies male! who neither toil, nor spin;
Ye delicate! who nothing can support,

Yourselves most insupportable! for whom
The winter rose must blow, and silky soft
Favonius breathe still softer, or be chid;
And other worlds send odors, sauce, and song,
And robes, and notions, fram'd in foreign looms!
O ye who deem one moment unamus'd,
A misery, say, dreamers of gay dreams!
How will you weather an eternal night,
Where such expedients fail? where wit's a fool;
Mirth mourns; dreams vanish; laughter sinks

in tears.

$ 150. Conscience.

O TREACHEROUS conscience! while she seems to sleep,

On rose and myrtle, lull'd with syren song;
While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop
On headlong appetite the slacken'd rein,
The sly informer minutes every fault,
And her dread diary with horror fills.
Not the gross act alone employs her pen :
She dawning purposes of heart explores,
Unnoted, notes each moment misapply'd;
In leaves more durable than leaves of brass,
Writes our whole history; which death shall read
In every pale delinquent's private ear;
And judgement publish publish to more worlds
Than this: and endless age in groans resound.
And think'st thou still thou canst be wise too

soon?

;

[fate,

$151. Man's Supineness. TIME flies, death urges, knells call, heaven inHell threatens ; all exerts in effort, all; [vites, More than creation labors!-Labors more? And is there in creation, what, amidst This tumult universal, wing'd dispatch, And ardent energy, supinely yawns ! Man sleeps; and man alone; and man, whose Fate irreversible, entire, extreme, [gulph Endless, hair-hung, breeze-shaken, o'er the A moment trembles; drops! man the sole cause Of this surrounding storm! and yet he sleeps, As the storm rock'd to rest.-Throw years away! Throw empires, and be blameless! moments seize, Heaven's on their wing: a moment we may wish When worlds want wealth to buy. Bid day stand Bid him drive back his car, recall, retake [still, Fate's hasty prey! implore him, re-import The period past; re-give the given hour! Lorenzo-O for yesterday to come!

Such is the language of the man awake; And is his ardor vain? Lorenzo, no! To-day is yesterday return'd; return'd Full power'd to cancel, expiate, raise, adorn, And reinstate us on the rock of peace. Let it not share its predecessor's fate; Nor like its elder sisters, die a fool. Shall we be poorer for the plenty pour'd? More wretch'd for the clemencies of Heaven?

$152. The Depravity of Man. WHERE shall I find him? angels; tell me where! You know him! he is near you: point him out; Shall I see glories beaming from his brow ?

Or trace his footsteps by the rising flow'rs?
Your golden wings, now hov'ring o'er him, shed
Protection, now, are waving in applause
To that blest son of foresight! lord of fate!
That awful independent on To-morrow!
Whose work is done; who triumphs in the past;
Whose yesterdays look backwards with a smile;
Nor, like the Parthian, wound him as they fly.
If not by guilt, they wound us by their flight,
If folly bounds our prospect by the grave:
All feeling of futurity benumb'd!
All relish of realities expir'd :

Renounc'd all correspondence with the skies;
Imbruted every faculty divine;

Heart-buried in the rubbish of the world;
The world, that gulph of souls, immortal souls,
Souls elevate, angelic, wing'd with fire

To reach the distant skies, and triumph there On thrones, which shall not mourn their masters chang'd,

Though we from earth; ethereal they that fell. Such veneration due, O man, to man!

§ 153. Instability of Life. WHO venerate themselves the world despise. For what, gay friend! is this escutcheon'd world, Which hangs out Death is one eternal night? And wraps our thoughts, at banquets, in the A night that glooms us in the noontide ray, Life's little stage is a small eminence, [shroud. Inch high the grave above; that home of man, Where dwells the multitude: we gaze around, We read their monuments; we sigh; and while We sigh, we sink; and are what we deplor'd; Lamenting, or lamented, all our lot!

now?

Is death at distance? No: he has been on thee; And given sure earnest of his final blow. Those hours which lately smil'd, where are they [drown'd Pallid to thought, and ghastly! drown'd, all In that great deep, which nothing disembogues; And, dying, they bequeath'd thee small renown. The rest are on the wing: how fleet their flight! Already has the fatal train took fire; A moment, and the world's blown up to thee; The sun is darkness, and the stars are dust. § 154. Vanity of Human Enjoyments, taught by Experience.

'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours; And ask them, what report they bore to heaven; And how they might have borne more welcome

news.

Their answers form what men Experience call:
If Wisdom's friend, her best; if not, worst foc.
O reconcile them! kind Experience cries,
"There's nothing here, but what as nothing
weighs;

The more our joy, the more we know it vain ;
And by success are tutor'd to despair."
Nor is it only thus, but must be so:
Who knows not this, though grey, is still a child.
Loose then from earth the grasp of fond desire,
Weigh anchor, and some happier clime explore.

Transfix'd by fate (who loves a lofty mark)
How from the summit of the grove she fell,
And left it unharmonious! all its charms
Extinguish'd in the wonders of her song!
Her song still vibrates in my ravish'd ear,
Still melting there, and with voluptuous pain
(O to forget her!) thrilling through my heart!
Song, Beauty, Youth, Love, Virtue, Joy! this
Of bright ideas, flow'rs of Paradise, [group
As yet unforfeit! in one blaze we bind,
Kneel, and present it to the skies; as all
We guess of heaven; and these were all her own:
And she was mine; and I was-was!-most
Gay title of the deepest misery! [blest!

As bodies grow more pond'rous robb'd of life,
Good lost weighs more in grief than gain'd in joy.
Like blossom'd trees o'erturn'd by vernal storm,
Lovely in death the beauteous ruín lay;
And if in death still lovely, lovelier there;
Far lovelier! pity swells the tide of love.
And will not the severe excuse a sigh?
Scorn the proud man that is asham'd to weep;
Our tears indulg'd indeed deserve our shame.
Ye that e'er lost an angel, pity me.

Soon as the lustre languish'd in her eye,
Dawning a dimmer day on human sight;
And on her check, the residence of spring,
Pale omen sat, and scatter'd fears around
On all that saw, (and who could cease to gaze
That once had seen?)—with haste, parental haste,
I flew, I snatch'd her from the rigid north,
Her native bed, on which black Boreas blew,
And bore her nearer to the sun; the sun
(As if the sun could envy) check'd his beam,
Denied his wonted succour; nor with more
Regret beheld her drooping, than the bells
Of lilies; fairest lilies, not so fair!

Queen lilies! and ye painted populace Who dwell in fields, and lead ambrosial lives; In morn and ev'ning dew your beauties bathe, And drink the sun; which gives your cheeks to glow;

And out-blush (mine excepted) every fair; You gladlier grew, ambitious of her hand, Which often cropp'd your odors, incense meet To thought so pure! Ye lovely fugitives! Coæval race with man! for man you smile; Why not smile at him too? You share indeed His sudden pass, but not his constant pain.

So man is made, nought ministers delight, But what his glowing passions can engage; And glowing passions, bent on aught below, Must soon or late with anguish turn the scale; And anguish, after rapture, how severe ! Rapture? Bold man! who tempts the wrath diBy plucking fruit denied to mortal taste, [vine, While here, presuming on the rights of heaven. For transport dost thou call on ev'ry hour, Lorenzo? At thy friend's expense be wise; Lean not on earth, 'twill pierce thee to the heart: A broken reed at best, but oft a spear; On its sharp point peace bleeds, and hope expires. Turn, hopeless thoughts! turn from her :thought repell'd

Resenting rallies, and wakes every woe. Snatch'd ere thy prime, and in thy bridal hour! And when kind fortune, with thy lover smil'd! And when high-flavor'd thy fresh op'ning joys! And when blind man pronounc'd thy bliss complete!

And on a foreign shore, where strangers wept!
Strangers to thee; and, more surprising still,
Strangers to kindness wept: their eyes let fall
Inhuman tears; strange tears! that trickled
down

From marble hearts! obdurate tenderness!
A tenderness that call'd them more severe;
In spite of nature's soft persuasion, steel'd;
While nature melted, superstition rav'd;
That mourn'd the dead, and this denied a grave.

Their sighs incens'd, sighs foreign to the will!
Their will the tiger suck'd, outrag'd the storm.
For, oh! the curs'd ungodliness of zeal!
While sinful flesh relented, spirit nurs'd
In blind infallibility's embrace,
The sainted spirit petrified the breast;
Denied the charity of dust, to spread
O'er dust! a charity their dogs enjoy.
What could I do? what succour? what re-
With pious sacrilege a grave I stole,
[source?
With impious piety that grave I wrong'd;
Short in my duty, coward in my grief!
More like her murderer than friend, I crept
With soft suspended step, and muffled deep
In midnight darkness, whisper'd my last sigh.
I whisper'd what should echo through their
realms;

Nor writ her name whose tomb should pierce the skies.

Presumptuous fear! how durst I dread her foes,
While nature's loudest dictates I obey'd?
Pardon necessity, blest shade! Of grief
And indignation rival bursts I pour'd;
Half execration mingled with my pray'r;
Kindled at man, while I his God ador'd;
Sore grudg'd the savage land her sacred dust;
Stamp'd the curs'd soil; and with humanity
(Denied Narcissa) wish'd them all a grave.

Glows my resentment into guilt? What guilt Can equal violations of the dead?

The dead how sacred! Sacred is the dust
Of this heaven-labor'd form, erect, divine;
This heaven-assum'd majestic robe of earth
He deign'd to wear, who hung the vast expanse
With azure bright, and cloth'd the sun in gold.
When ev'ry passion sleeps that can offend;
When strikes us ev'ry motive that can melt;
When man can wreak his rancour uncontroll❜d,
That strongest curb on insult and ill-will;
Then, spleen to dust? the dust of innocence ?
An angel's dust ?-This Lucifer transcends:
When he contended for the patriarch's bones,
'Twas not the strife of malice, but of pride;
The strife of pontiff pride, not pontiff gall.

Far less than this is shocking, in a race
Most wretched but from streams of mutual love,
And uncreated but for love divine;
And, but for love divine, this moment lost,