Prepar'd for thofe rebellious fons of light,
In burning darkness and in flaming night,
Which fhall no limit or ceffation know,
But always are extreme, and always will be fo.
The final fentence paft, a dreadful cloud
Inclofing all the miferable crowd,

A mighty hurricane of thunder rofe,
And hurl'd them all into a lake of fire,
Which never, never, never can expire;

The vast abyss of endless woes:
Whilft with their God the righteous mount on high,
In glorious triumph paffing through the sky,
To joys immenfe, and everlasting extafy.

REASON:

U

A POE M.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1700.

"Nhappy man! who, through fucceffive years, From early youth to life's last childhood errs: No fooner born but proves a foe to truth; For infant Reafon is o'erpower'd in youth. The cheats of fense will half our learning share; And pre-conceptions all our knowledge are, Reason, 't is true, should over fenfe prefide : Correct our notions, and our judgments guide; But falfe opinions, rooted in the mind, Hoodwink the foul, and keep our Reafon blind. Reafon 's a taper, which but faintly burns ; A languid flame, that glows, and dies by turns:

We

We fee 't a little while, and but a little way;
We travel by its light, as men by day:
But quickly dying, it forfakes us foon,
Like morning-ftars, that never stay till noon.
The foul can scarce above the body rife;
And all we fee is with corporeal eyes.

Life now does scarce one glimpse of light display;
We mourn in darkness, and despair of day:
That natural night, once dreft with orient beams,
Is now diminish'd, and a twilight feems ;
A mifcellaneous compofition, made

Of night and day, of funshine and of fhade.
Through an uncertain medium now we look,
And find that falfehood, which for truth we took :
So rays projected from the eastern skies,

Shew the falfe day before the fun can rife.

That little knowledge now which man obtains,
From outward objects, and from fenfe he gains:
He, like a wretched flave muft plod and sweat;
By day must toil, by night that toil repeat;
And yet, at last, what little fruit he gains!
A beggar's harvest, glean'd with mighty pains!
The paffions, ftill predominant, will rule
Ungovern'd, rude, not bred in Reason's school;
Our understanding they with darkness fill,
Caufe ftrong corruptions, and pervert the will.
On these the foul, as on fome flowing tide,
Muft fit, and on the raging billows ride,
Hurried away; for how can be withstood
Th' impetuous torrent of the boiling blood?

Begone, falfe hopes, for all our learning 's vain;
Can we be free where these the rule maintain ?
These are the tools of knowledge which we use ;
The fpirits heated, will strange things produce.
Tell me, whoe'er the paffions could control,
Or from the body difengage the foul :

Till this is done, our best pursuits are vain,
To conquer truth, and unmix'd knowledge gain :
Through all the bulky volumes of the dead,
And through those books that modern times have bred,
With pain we travel, as through moorish ground,
Where scarce one useful plant is ever found;
O'er-run with errors, which fo thick appear,
Our fearch proves vain, no fpark of truth is there,
What's all the noisy jargon of the schools,
But idle nonsense of laborious fools,

Who fetter Reason with perplexing rules?
What in Aquina's bulky works are found,
Does not enlighten Reason, but confound:
Who travels Scotus' fwelling tomes, shall find
A cloud of darkness rifing on the mind;
In controverted points can Reason sway,
When paffion, or conceit, ftill hurries us away!
Thus his new notions Sherlock would inftil,
And clear the greatest mysteries at will;
But, by unlucky wit, perplex'd them more,
And made them darker than they were before.
South foon oppos'd him, out of chriftian zeal;
Shewing how well he could dispute and rail.

How

How shall we e'er discover which is right,
When both fo eagerly maintain the fight?
Each does the other's arguments deride;
Each has the church and scripture on his fide.
The sharp, ill-natur'd combat 's but a jeft;
Both may be wrong; one, perhaps, errs the least.
How fhall we know which articles are true,
The old ones of the church, or Burnet's new?
In paths uncertain and unfafe he treads,
Who blindly follows other fertile heads :
What fure, what certain mark have we to know,
The right or wrong, 'twixt Burgess, Wake, and Howe?
Should unturn'd nature crave the medic art,
What health can that contentious tribe impart?
Every physician writes a different bill,

}

And gives no other Reafon but his will.
No longer boast your art, ye impious race;
Let wars 'twixt Alcalies and Acids cease;
And proud G-11 with Colbatch be at peace.
Gibbons and Radcliffe do but rarely guess;
To-day they've good, to-morrow, no fuccefs.
Ev'n Garth and * Maurus fometimes fhall prevail,
When Gibson, learned Hannes, and Tyson, fail.
And, more than once we 've feen, that blundering Sloane,
Miffing the gout, by chance has hit the stone;
The patient does the lucky error find:

A cure he works, though not the cure defign'd.
Cuftom, the world's great idol, we adore;
And knowing this, we feek to know no more.
* Sir Richard Blackmore,

What education did at firft receive,

Our ripen'd age confirms us to believe.
The careful nurfe, and prieft, are all we need,
To learn opinions, and our country's creed :
The parent's precepts early are instill'd,
And spoil the man, while they inftruct the child.
To what hard fate is human-kind betray'd,
When thus implicit faith, a virtue made;
When education more than truth prevails,
And nought is current but what cuftom feals?
Thus, from the time we first began to know,
We live and learn, but not the wifer grow.
We seldom use our liberty aright,
Nor judge of things by univerfal light :
Our prepoffeffions and affections bind

The foul in chains, and lord it o'er the mind;

And if felf-intereft be but in the cafe,

Our unexamin'd principles may pafs!

Good Heavens! that man fhould thus himself deceive, To learn on credit, and on truft believe!

Better the mind no notions had retain'd,

But ftill a fair, unwritten blank remain'd:

For now, who truth from falsehood would difcern,
Muft firft difrobe the mind, and all unlearn.
Errors, contracted in unmindful youth,
When once remov'd, will smooth the way to truth:
To difpoffefs the child, the mortal lives;

But death approaches ere the man arrives.

Those who would learning's glorious kingdom find, The dear-bought purchafe of the trading mind,

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