Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB
[ocr errors]

They rofe not to his Maker. Thus prepar'd
To know how diftant from his narrow ken

The truths by Heaven reveal'd, my hand display'd
The plan fair-opening, where each nobler view,
That fwells the expanding heart; each glorious hope,
That points ambition to its goal: each aim,
That tirs, exalts, and animates defire;

Pours on the mind's rapt fight a noon-tide ray.
"Nor lefs in life employ'd, 'tis mine to raise
The defolate of heart; to bend the brow

Of stubborn pride, to bid reluctant ire
Subfide; to tame rude nature to the rein

Of virtue. What tho', screen'd from mortal view,
I walk the deeping gloom? What tho' my ways,
Remote from thought's bewilder'd fearch, are wrapt
In triple darknefs? Yet I work the springs
Of life, and to the gen'ral good direct

Th' obfequious means to move.-O ye, who toff'd
On life's tumultuous ocean, eye the fhore,
Yet far remov'd; and with the happy hour,
When flumber on her downy couch fhail lull
Your cares to sweet repofe; yet bear a while,
And I will guide you to the balmy climes
Of rest ; will lay you by the filver ftream
Crown'd with elyfian bow'rs, where peace extends
Her blooming olive, and the tempeft pours
Its killing blast no more." Thus Wisdom speaks
To man; thus calls him thro' the external form
Of nature, thro' Religion's fuller noon,

Through life's bewild'ring mazes; to obferve

A PROVIDENCE IN ALL.

SECTION IX.

The laft day.

AT the deftin'd hour

OGILVIE.

By the loud trumpet fummon'd to the charge,
See, all the formidable fons of fire,

Eruptions, earthquakes, comets, lightnings, play
Their various engines: all at once difgorge
Their blazing magazines: and take by ftorm.
This poor terreftrial citadel of man.

Amazing period! when each mountain-height
Out-burns Vefuvius rocks eternal pour

Their melted mafs, as rivers once they pour'd;

Stars rush; and final ruin fiercely drives
Her ploughfhare o'er creation!-while aloft,
More than aftonishment! if more can be !
Far other firmament than e'er was seen,
Than e'er was thought by man! far other stars!
Stars animate, that govern thefe of fire;
Far other fun!-A fun, O how unlike

The Babe at Bethlehem! How unlike the Man
That groan'd on Calvary !-Yet HE it is ;
That man of forrows! O how chang'd! what pomp!
In grandeur terrible, all heav'n defcends:
A fwift archangel, with his golden wing,
As blots and clouds, that darken and disgrace
The scene divine, fweeps stars and funs aside.
And now, all drofs remov'd, heav'ns own pure day,
Full on the confines of our ether, flames:
While (dreadful contrast!) far, how far beneath!
Hell, bursting, belehes forth her blazing feas,
And ftorms fulphureous; her voracious jaws
Expanding wide, and roaring for her prey.

At midnight, when mankind is wrapt in peace,
And worldly fancy feeds on golden dreams,
Man, ftarting from his couch, fhall fleep no more!
The day is broke, which never more shall close !
Above, around, beneath, amazement all!
Terror and glory join'd in their extremes !
Our God, in grandeur, and our world on fire!
All nature ftruggling in the pangs of death!
Doft thou not hear her! doft thou not deplore
Her ftrong convulfions and her final groan?
Where are we now? Ah me! the ground is gone
On which we stood! Lorenzo! while thou mayft,
Provide more firm fupport, or fink forever!
Where? how? from whence? vain hope! it is too late!
Where, where, for shelter fhall the guilty fly,
When confternation turns the good man pale?
Great day! for which all other days were made;
For which earth rofe from chaos; man from earth ;
And an eternity, the date of gods,

Defcended on poor earth-created man!
Great day of dread decision, and despair !
At thought of thee, each fublunary with
Lets go its eager grafp, and drops the world;
And catches at each reed of hope in heav'n.

Already is begun the grand affize,

In us, in all deputed conscience scales
The dread tribunal, and forestals our doom :
Foreftals; and, by forestalling, proves it fure.
Why on himself should man void judgment pass?
Is idle nature laughing at her fons ?

Who confcience fent, her fentence will support,
And God above affert that God in man.
Thrice happy hey, that enter now the court
Heav'n opens in their bosoms; but how rare!
Ah me! that magnanimity, how rare!
What hero, like the man who stands himself ?
Who dares to meet his naked heart alone;
Who hears intrepid the full charge it brings,
Refolv'd to filence future murmurs there?
The coward flies; and, flying, is undone.
Shall man alone, whofe fate, whofe final fate,
Hangs on that hour, exclude it from his thought?
I think of nothing elfe; I fee! I feel it!
All nature, like an earthquake, trembling round!
1 fee the Judge enthron'd! the flaming guard!
The volume open'd! open'd ev'ry heart!
A fun-beam pointing out each fecret thought!
No patron! interceffor none! now past
The fweet, the clement mediatorial hour!.
For guilt, no plea! to pain, no paufe! no bound!
Inexorable, all! and all extreme!

Nor man alone; the foe of God and man,
From his dark den, blafpheming, drags his chain,
And rears his brazen front, with thunder fcarr'd.
Like meteors in a stormy sky, how roll

His baleful eyes! he curfes whom he dreads;
And deems it the first moment of his fall.

CHAP IV.

PATHETIC PIECES.

SECTION I.
Hymn to humanity.

PARENT of virtue, if thine ear

Attend not now to forrow's cry;

If now the pity-ftreaming tear

Should haply on thy cheek be dry;

YOUNG.

Indulge my votive train, O fweet Humanity : Ꭱ .

Come, ever welcome to my breast,
A tender, but a cheerful guest !
Nor always in the gloomy cell
Of life-confuming forrow dwell;
For forrow, long-indulg'd and flow,
Is to Humanity a foe;

And grief, that makes the heart its prey, Wears fenfibility away.

Then come, sweet nymph-instead of thee,
The gloomy fiend Stupidity.

O may that fiend be banish'd far,
Though paffions hold perpetual war!
Nor ever let me ceafe to know
The pulfe that throbs at joy or wo.
Nor let my vacant cheek be dry,
When forrow fills a brother's eye;
Nor may the tear that frequent flows,
From private or from focial woes,
E'er make this pleafing fense depart;
Ye cares, O harden not my heart!
If the fair star of fortune fmile,
Let not its flatt'ring pow'r beguile;
Nor, borne along the fav'ring tide,
My full fails fwell with bloating pride.
Let me from wealth but hope content,
Rememb'ring ftill it was but lent;
To modeft merit fpread my store,
Unbar my hofpitable door;
Nor feed, for pomp, an idle train,
While want unpitied pines in vain.
If Heav'n in ev'ry purpose wise,
The envied lot of wealth denies ;
If doom'd to drag life's painful load
Through poverty's uneven road,
And, for the due bread of the day,
Deftin'd to toil as well as pray ;
To thee, Humanity, ftill true,
I'll with the good I cannot do;
And give the wretch, that paffes by,
A foothing word-a tear-a figh.
Howe'er exalted or depreft,
Be ever mine the feeling breast.

From me remove the ftagnant mind
Of languid indolence reclin'd;

The foul that one long Sabbath keeps,
And through the fun's whole circle fleeps ;
Dull peace, that dwells in folly's eye,
And felf-attending vanity,

Alike the foolish and the vain
Are ftrangers to the fenfe humane.
O for that fympathetic glow
Which taught the holy tear to flow,
When the prophetic eye furvey'd
Sion in future ashes laid;

Or, raif'd to Heaven, implor'd the bread
That thoufands in the defert fed!
Or, when the heart o'er friendship's grave
Sigh'd—and forgot its power to fave-
O for that fympathetic glow,

Which taught the holy tear to flow !
It comes: it fills my lab'ring breast,
I feel my beating heart oppreft.
Oh hear that lonely widow's wail!
See her dim eye; her afpect pale!
To Heaven fhe turns in deep despair;
Her infants wonder at her prayer,
And, mingling tears they know not why,
Lift up their little hands and cry.
O Lord! their moving forrows fee!
Support them, fweet Humanity!

Life, fill'd with grief's diftrefsful train,
Forever afks the tear humane.
Behold in yon unconfcious grove
The victims of ill-fated love!
Heard you that agonizing throe?
Sure this is not romantic wo!
The golden day of joy is o'er;
And now they part-to meet no more.
Affift them, hearts from anguifh free!
Affift them, fweet Humanity!

Parent of virtue, if thine ear

Attend not now to forrow's cry;

If now the pity-ftreaming tear

Should haply on thy cheek be dry,

Indulge my votive ftrain, O fweet Humanity!

LANGHORNE,

« ZurückWeiter »