So dear, fo due to heaven, shall praise descend, With her foft plume (from plausive angels wing 345 Firft pluck'd by man) to tickle mortal ears, Thus diving in the pockets of the great? Is praife the perquisite of every paw, Though black as hell, that grapples well for gold? Their future ornaments? From courts and thrones, 350 355 Thou prostitute to thy first love return, Thy firft, thy greateft, once unrival'd theme. 360 There flow redundant; like Meander flow, Back to thy fountain; to that Parent Power, Who gives the tongue to found, the thought to foar, The foul to be. Men homage pay to men, Thoughtless beneath whofe dreadful eye they bow 365 Of guilt to guilt; and turn their back on thee, 370 O the prefumption of man's awe for man! What, What, night eternal, but a frown from thee? O may I breathe no longer, than I breathe 375 380 Cut through the shades of hell, great Love! by thee Oh moft Adorable! moft Unador'd! Where fhall that praise begin, which ne'er should end? Where'er I turn, what claim on all applause! How is night's fable mantle labour'd o'er, How richly wrought with attributes divine! 385 What wisdom fhines! what love! this midnight pomp, 390 Above! beyond! Oh tell me, mighty Mind! 395 Or holds He furious forms in ftreighten'd reins, And bids fierce whirlwinds wheel his rapid car? What mean these questions?-Trembling I retract; My proftrate foul adores the present God: Praise I a diftant deity? He tunes 400 My voice (if tun'd); the nerve, that writes, fuftains: Wrapt in his being, I refound his praise: But though past all diffus'd, without a shore, Unbit by rage canine of dying rich; 110 115 O my coëvals! remnants of yourselves! Poor human ruins, tottering o'er the grave! Shall we, shall aged men, like aged trees, Strike deeper their vile root, and closer cling, Still more enamour'd of this wretched foil? Shall our pale, wither'd hands, be ftill ftretch'd' out, Trembling, at once, with eagerness and age? With avarice and convulfions, grasping hard? Grafping at air! for what has earth befide? Man wants but little; nor that little, long; How foon must he resign his very dust, Which frugal nature lent him for an hour! Years unexperienc'd rush on numerous ills; And foon as man, expert from time, has found The key of life, it opes the gates of death. age, When in this vale of years I backward look, *-'120 *125 -130 Alive by miracle! or, what is next, Alive by Mead! if I am still alive, Who long have bury'd what gives life to live, Life's lee is not more shallow, than impure, 135 And And vapid; Sense and Reason shew the door, O thou great arbiter of life and death! And triumph in existence; and could know 140 145 150 Though nature's terrors, thus, may be repreft; Still frowns grim Death; guilt points the tyrant's fpear. And whence all human guilt? From death forgot. Ah me! too long I fet at nought the fwarm Of friendly warnings, which around me flew; 155 They ftrike our hearts, the deeper is their wound; 160 F 2 165 With With joy, with grief, that healing hand I fee; Ah! too confpicuous! it is fix'd on high. - On high? What means my phrenfy? I blafpheme; The skies it form'd; and now it bleeds for me- 170 175 Horror receives us, and the dismal wish Creation had been fmother'd in her birth Darkness his curtain, and his bed the duft; When ftars and fun are duft beneath his throne! In heaven itself can fuch indulgence dwell? 180 O what a groan was there! a groan not His. He feiz'd our dreadful right; the load fuftain'd; And heav'd the mountain from a guilty world. A thousand worlds, fo bought, were bought too dear; Senfations new in angels bofoms rise; Sufpend their fong; and make a pause in blifs. O for their fong; to reach my lofty theme! And christian languish? on our hearts, not heads, 185 190 195 "Expended |