Each mind a void, as when first born to earth,
Behold a fecond blank in fecond birth;
Then, as yon feraph-bard fram'd hearts below,
Each fees him here tranfcendent knowledge show, 380
New faints he tutors into truth refin'd,
And tunes to rapturous love the new-form'd mind.
He fwells the lyre, whose loud, melodious lays
Call high Hofannas from the voice of praise;
Though one bad age fuch poefy could wrong,
Now worlds around retentive roll the fong:
Now God's high throne the full-voic'd raptures gain,
Celestial hofts returning strain for strain.
Thus he, who once knew want without relief,
Sees joys refulting from well-fuffering grief.
Hark! while we talk, a diftant pattering rain
Resounds!-See! up the broad ætherial plain
Shoots the bright bow!-The feraph flits away;
The Mufe, the Graces from our view decay.
Behind yon western hill the globe of light
Drops fudden; faft-purfued by fhades of night.
Yon graves
from winter-fcenes to mind recall
Rebellion's council, and rebellion's fall.
What fiends in fulphurous, car-like clouds up-flew !
What midnight treafon glar'd beneath their view! 400
And now the traitors rear their Babel-fchemes,
Big, and more big, ftupendous mifchief feems ;
But Justice, rouz'd, fuperior ftrength employs,
Their fcheme wide fhatters, and their hope destroys.
Discord fhe wills; the miffile ruin flies;
Sudden, unnatural debates arife,
Doubt, mutual jealousy, and dumb disgust,
Dark-hinted mutterings, and avow'd distrust;
To fecret ferment is each heart refign'd;
Sufpicion hovers in each clouded mind;
They jar, accus'd accuse, revil'd revile,
And wrath to wrath oppose, and guile to guile;
Wrangling they part, themselves themselves betray;
Each dire device starts naked into day;
They feel confufion in the van with fear; ·
They feel the king of terrors in the rear.
Of these were three by different motives fired,
Ambition one, and one Revenge inspired.
The third, O Mammon, was thy meaner flave;
Thou idol feldom of the great and brave!
Florio, whofe life was one continued feast, His wealth diminifh'd, and his debts increas'd, Vain pomp, and equipage, his low defires, Who ne'er to intellectual blifs afpires; He, to repair by vice what vice has broke, Durst with bold treafons judgment's rod provoke. His ftrength of mind, by luxury half dissolv'd, Ill brooks the woe, where deep he ftands involv'd. He weeps, ftamps wild, and to and fro now flies; Now wrings his hands, and fends unmanly cries, 430 Arraigns his judge, affirms unjuft he bleeds, And now recants, and now for mercy pleads; Now blames affociates, raves with inward strife, Upbraids himself; then thinks alone on life. He rolls red fwelling, tearful eyes around, Sore fmites his breast, and finks upon the ground.
He wails, he quite defponds, convulfive lies,
Shrinks from the fancied axe, and thinks he dies:
Revives, with hope enquires, ftops short with fear,
Entreats ev'n flattery, nor the worst will hear; 440
The worst, alas, his doom!—What friend replies?
Each speaks with fhaking head, and down caft eyes.
One filence breaks, then paufes, drops a tear;
Nor hope affords, nor quite confirms his fear;
But what kind friendship part referves unknown 445
Comes thundering in his keeper's furly tone.
Enough ftruck through and through, in ghastly stare,
He stands transfix'd, the ftatue of despair;
Nor aught of life, nor aught of death he knows,
Till thought returns, and brings return of woes: 450
Now pours a form of grief in gufhing streams:
That paft-collected in himself he feems,
And with forc'd finile retires-His latent thought
Dark, horrid, as the prifon's difmal vault.
If with himfelf at variance ever-wild,
With angry heaven how stands he reconcil'd?
No penitential orisons arife ;
Nay, he obtefts the juftice of the skies.
Not for his guilt, for fentenc'd life he moans;
His chains rough-clanking to difcordant groans, 460
To bars harfh-grating, heavy-creaking doors,
Hoarse-echoing walls, and hollow-ringing floors,
To thoughts more diffonant, far, far lefs kind,
One anarchy, one chaos of the mind.
At length, fatigued with grief, on earth he lies: 465
But foon as fleep weighs down th' unwilling eyes,
Glad liberty appears, no damps annoy,
Treafon fucceeds, and all transforms to joy.
Proud palaces their glittering ftores difplay:
Gain he pursues, and rapine leads the way.
What gold! What gems!-he strains to feize the prize;
Quick from his touch diffolv'd, a cloud it flies.
Confcious he cries-and muft I wake to weep?
.Ah, yet return, return, delusive sleep!
Sleep comes; but liberty no more:-Unkind,
The dungeon-glooms hang heavy on his mind.
Shrill winds are heard, and howling dæmons call;
Wide-flying portals feem unhing'd to fall:
Then close with fudden claps; a dreadful din!
He starts, wakes, ftorms, and all is hell within.
His genius flies-reflects he now on prayer?
Alas! bad fpirits turn thofe thoughts to air.
What shall he next? What, ftraight relinquifh breath,
To bar a public, juft, though fhameful death?
Rafh, horrid thought! yet now afraid to live,
Murderous he ftrikes-may heaven the deed forgive!
Why had he thus falfe fpirit to rebel ?
And why not fortitude to fuffer well?
Were his fuccefs, how terrible the blow!
And it recoils on him eternal woe,
Heaven this affliction then for mercy meant,
That a good end might clofe a life mifpent.
Where no kind lips the hallow'd dirge resound,
Far from the compafs of yon facred ground;
Full in the centre of three meeting ways,
Stak'd through he lies.-Warn'd let the wicked gaze.
Near yonder fane, where mifery fleeps in peace, Whofe fpire fast-leffens, as thefe fhades increase, Left to the north, whence oft brew'd tempefts roll, Tempefts, dire emblems, Cofmo, of thy foul! 500 There mark that Cofino, much for guile renown'd! His grave by unbid plants of poison crown'd. When out of power, through him the public good, So ftrong his factious tribe, fufpended stood. In power, vindictive actions were his aim, And patriots perifh'd by th' ungenerous flame. If the best cause he in the fenate chose,
Ev'n right in him from fome wrong motive rofe.
'The bad he loath'd, and would the weak defpife;
Yet courted for dark ends, and fhunn'd the wife. 510
When ill his purpose, eloquent his strain ;
His malice had a look, and voice humane.
His fmile, the fignal of fome vile intent,
A private poniard, or empoison'd scent ;
Proud, yet to popular applause a slave;
No friend he honour'd, and no foe forgave.
His boons unfrequent, or unjust to need;
The hire of guilt, of infamy the meed :
But, if they chanc'd on learned worth to fall,
Bounty in him was oftentation all.
No true benevolence his thought sublimes,
His nobleft actions are illuftrious crimes.
Fine parts, which virtue might have rank'd with fame, Enhance his guilt, and magnify his fhame.
When parts in probity in man combine,
In wisdom's eye, how charming must he shine!
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