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Beneath mishapen Chaos, and the field
Of fighting atoms, where hot, moist, and dry,
Wage an eternal war with dismal roar ;
The difmal roar breaks fmoothly on the ground,
Sacred to horror, and eternal night:

Here Silence fits, whofe vifionary shape

In folds of wreathy mantling finks obfcure,
And in dark fumes reclines his drowsy head;
An urn he holds, from whence a lake proceeds,
Wide, flowing gently, fmooth, and Lethe nam'd:
Hither compell'd, each foul muft drink long draughts
Of those forgetful streams, 'till forms within,
And all the great ideas fade and die :
For if vaft thought should play about a mind
Inclos'd in flesh, and dragging cumbrous life,
Flutt'ring and beating in the mournful cage,
It foon would break its grates and wing away :
'Tis therefore my decree, the foul return
Naked from off this beach, and perfect blank,
To visit the new world; and strait to feel
Itself, in crude confiftence closely shut,
The dreadful monument of just revenge;
Immur'd by heaven's own hand, and plac'd ere&
On fleeting matter all imprison'd round

With walls of clay; th' ætherial mould shall bear
The chain of members, deafen'd with an ear,

Blinded by eyes, and manacled in hands.
Here anger, vaft ambition, and disdain,

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And all the haughty movements rife and fall,
As ftorms of neighbouring atoms tear the foul;
And hope, and love, and all the calmer turns
Of eafy hours, in their gay gilded shapes,
With fudden run, skim o'er deluded minds,
As matter leads the dance; but one defire,
Unfatisfy'd, shall mar ten thousand joys.

The rank of beings, that fhall firft advance,
Drink deep of human life; and long shall stay
On this
great fcene of cares. From all the reft,
That longer for the destin'd body wait,
Lefs penance I expect; and short abode
In those pale dreary kingdoms will content :
Each has his lamentable lót, and all,

On different racks, abide the pains of life.
The penfive spirit takes the lonely grove :
Nightly he vifits all the fylvan fcenes,
Where far remote, a melancholy moon

Raifing her head, ferene and fhorn of beams,
Throws here and there the glimmerings thro' the trees,
To make more aweful darkness. Starry lights,
Hung up on high, fhed round 'em as they burn
A pale fad influence; and they gild the plains
With doubtful rays, which ftrike within the fhades
A trembling luftre and uncertain light.

The SAGE fhall haunt this folitary ground,
And view the difmal landscape, limn'd within
In horrid fhades, mix'd with imperfect light.

Here

Here JUDGMEGT, blinded by delusive SENSE,
Contracted through the cranny of an eye,

Shoots up faint languid beams, to that dark feat,
Wherein the foul bereav'd of native fire,

Sits intricate, in mifty clouds obfcur'd,
Ev'n from itself conceal'd, and there prefides
O'er jarring images with reafon's fway,

Which by his ordering more confounds their form ;
And by decisions more embroils the fray :

The more he strives t' appeafe, the more he feels
The ftruggling furges of the darksome void
Impetuous, and the thick revolving thoughts
Encount❜ring thoughts, image on image turn'd,
A Chaos of wild fcience, where fometimes
The clashing notions ftrike out cafual light,
Which foon muft perish and be loft again
In the thick darkness round it.

Now, he tries

With all his might to raise fome weighty thought,

Of me, of fate, or of th' eternal round,

Which but recoils to crufh the labouring mind.
High are his reasonings, but the feeble clue
Of fleeting images he draws in vain

To wond'rous length; (for still the turning maze
Eludes his art) its end flies far

away,

And leaves him tracing round the toilfome path,
Returning oft on the fame beaten thought.
For much of good he talks, and life ferene,
Of happiness deny'd, the difmal wafte

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Of wisdom's privilege, and th' obdurate breast,
Stubborn in anguish; idle wisdom all,
Weak forcery to charm a real pain;

Diftafting crowds and bufinefs, thus he feeks
Diverfion in himself, but with deep thoughts
He kindles doubt; and while he strives to blow
The ashes off, revives the brand of care.
Hence far remov'd, a diff'rent noisy race
In cities full and frequent take their seat,
Where honour's crush'd, and gratitude oppress'd
With fwelling hopes of gain, that raise within
A tempeft, and, driv'n onward by fuccefs,
Can find no bounds. For creatures of a day
Stretch their wide cares to ages; full increase
Starves the penurious foul, while empty found
Fills the ambitious; that shall ever shrink,
Pining with endless cares, whilft this shall swell
To tympany enormous. Bright in arms
Here fhines the hero, out he fiercely leads
A martial throng, his inftruments of rage,
To fill the world with death, and thin mankind.
Ambition drives, and round the world he roams,
Marking his way with blood; the dreadful noise
Begets a fame; and all the breath he leaves
Is fpent in his false praise, and vainly bloats
The tyrant's foul; while high his kingdoms rife
In fleeting pomp, hov'ring o'er their gaudy wings
Around the fervile globe, that tamely bends

Beneath

Beneath his haughty reign; and all his flaves
Under his yoke shall groan, and scarce shall groan
Without a crime. Here torturing engines roar
With human voice difguis'd; earth, water, fire,
Are made (dire elements of cruelty!)
Subfervient to his luft, and power to kill;

Yet fhall the herd endure, nor dare to break

United their imaginary chain ;

;

While their great monarch chills with equal fears,
No lefs a flave than they. Each rumour shakes
The haughty purple, dark and cloudy cares
Involve the aweful throne, that stands erect,
Balanc'd on the wild people's temper'd rage,
And fortify'd with dangerous arts of power,
But death fhall fhift thofe fcenes of mifery ;
Then doubtful titles kindle up new wars,
And urge on ling'ring fate; the enfigns blaze
About the camp, and drums and trumpets' found
Prepare a folemn way to griezly war;

Javelins and bearded spears in ghaftly ranks
Erect their fhining heads, and round the field

A harvest's scene of formidable death;

Then joins the horrid shock, whose bellowing burst

groans

Torments the shatter'd air, and drowns the
Of men below that roll in certain death.
These are the mortal fports, the tragick plays
By man himself embroil'd; the dire debate
Make the wafte defart seem ferene and mild,

Where

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