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 crush the labouring mind. High are his reafonings, but the feeble clue Of fleeting images he draws in vain
To wond'rous length; (for ftill 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 serene, Of happiness deny'd, the dismal waste
Of wisdom's privilege, and th' obdurate breast, Stubborn in anguifh; idle wifdom all, Weak forcery to charm a real pain;
Diftafting crowds and bufinefs, thus he feeks Diversion in himself, but with deep thoughts
He kindles doubt; and while he ftrives to blow The ashes off, revives the brand of care. Hence far remov'd, a diff'rent noify race In cities full and frequent take their feat,' Where honour's crufh'd, and gratitude opprefs'd With fwelling hopes of gain, that raise within A tempeft, and, driv'n onward by success,
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 fhall ever shrink, Pining with endless cares, whilst 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 noife Begets a fame; and all the breath he leaves Is spent in his falfe praife, and vainly bloats The tyrant's foul; while high his kingdoms rife In fleeting pomp, hov'ring their gaudy wings Around the fervile globe, that tamely bends Beneath his haughty reign; and all his flaves Under his yoke fhall groan, and scarce fhall 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 less a slave 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 filed A harvest's scene of formidable death;
Then joins the horrid fhock, whofe bellowing burst Torments the shatter'd air, and drowns the groans. Of men below that roll in certain death.
These are the mortal fports, the tragic plays
By man himself embroil'd; the dire debate Makes the waste defart feem ferene and mild, Where favage nature in one common lies, By homely cots poffefs'd; all fqualid, wild, And defpicably poor, they range the field, And feel their share of hunger, care, and pain,
Cheated by flying prey; and now they tear Their panting flesh; and now with nails unclean They tug their fhaggy beards; and deeply quaff Of human woe, eyen when they rudely fip The flowing stream, or chew the savory pulp Of nature's fresheft viands; fragrant fruits Enjoy'd with trembling, and in danger fought. But where th' appointed limits of a law Fences the general fafety of the world, No greater quiet reigns; for wanton man, In giddy frolic, eafily leaps o'er
His own invented bounds; hence rapine, fraud, Revenge, and luft, and all the hideous train Of nameless ills, diftort the meagre mind To endless shapes of woe. Here mifers mourn Departed gold, and their defrauded heirs Dire perjuries complain; the blended loads Of punishment and crime deform the world, And give no reft to man; with pangs and throes He enters on the ftage; prophetic tears And infant cries prelude his future woes; And all is one continu'd fcene of grief, 'Till the fad fable curtain falls in death.
But that laft act fhall in one moment close
Of doubt and darkness; pain fhall crack the strings Of life decay'd; no lefs the foul convuls'd, Trembles in anxious cares, and fhuddering stands, Afraid to leap into the opening gulph
Of future fate, 'till all the banks of clay Fall from beneath his feet: in vain he grafps The shatter'd reeds that cheat his eafy with. Reason is now no more; that narrow lamp (Which with its fickly fires would fhoot its beams To distances unknown, and ftretch its rays Afkance my paths, in deepest darkness veil'd) Is funk into his focket; inly there
It burns a dismal light; th' expiring flame Is choak'd in fumes, and parts in various doubt. Then the gay glories of the living world Shall caft their empty varnish, and retire Out of his feeble view; and rifing fhade Sit hov'ring o'er all nature's various face. Music shall cease, and inftruments of joy Shall fail that fullen hour; nor can the mind
Attend their founds, when fancies fwim in death, Confus'd and crush'd with cares: for long fhall feem The dreary road, and melancholy dark,
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