115

Unbit by rage canine of dying rich;
Guilt's blunder! and the loudeft laugh of hell.
O my coëvals! remnants of yourselves!
Poor human ruins, tottering o'er the grave!
Shall we, fhall aged men, like aged trees,
Strike deeper their vile root, and clofer 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 refign 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.

When in this vale of years I backward look,
And mifs fuch numbers, numbers too of fuch,
Firmer in health, and greener in their age,
And ftricter on their guard, and fitter far,
To play life's fubtle game, I scarce believe
I ftill furvive and am I fond of life,

:

120

125

Who scarce can think it poffible, I live?

130

Alive by miracle! or, what is next,

Alive by Mead! if I am ftill alive,

Who long have bury'd what gives life to live,
Firmness of nerve, and energy of thought.

Life's lee is not more shallow, than impure,

135

And

And vapid; Sense and Reason fhew the door,
Call for my bier, and point me to the duft.

O thou great arbiter of life and death!
Nature's immortal, immaterial fun!
Whofe all-prolific beam late call'd me forth
From darkness, teeming darkness, where I lay
The worm's inferior, and, in rank, beneath
The duft I tread on, high to bear my brow,
To drink the fpirit of the golden day,
And triumph in existence; and could know
No motive, but my blifs; and haft ordain'd
A rise in blessing! with the Patriarch's joy,
Thy call I follow to the land unknown;
I trust in thee, and know in whom I trust;
Or life, or death, is equal; neither weighs :
All weight in this-O let me live to thee!

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 swarm

Of friendly warnings, which around me flew;
And fmil'd, unfmitten: finall my cause to smile!
Death's admonitions, like fhafts upwards shot,
More dreadful by delay, the longer ere

155

They ftrike our hearts, the deeper is their wound; 160
O think how deep, Lorenzo! here it stings:
Who can appeafe its anguish? how it burns!

What hand the barb'd, invenom'd, thought can draw?
What healing hand can pour the balm of peace,
And turn my fight undaunted on the tomb?

F 2

165 With

With joy, with grief, that healing hand I see; Ah! too confpicuous! it is fix'd on high.

170

On high? What means my phrenfy? I blafpheme;
Alas! how low! how far beneath the skies!
The skies it form'd; and now it bleeds for me-
But bleeds the balm I want-yet still it bleeds;
Draw the dire steel-ah no! the dreadful bleffing
What heart or can fuftain, or dares forego?
There hangs all human hope; that nail supports
The falling univerfe: that gone, we drop;
Horror receives us, and the dismal wish

Creation had been fmother'd in her birth

175

Darkness his curtain, and his bed the duft;

When stars 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 thoufand worlds, so bought, were bought too dear; Senfations new in angels bofoms rife;

Sufpend their fong; and make a pause in bliss.

O for their fong; to reach my lofty theme!
Infpire me, Night! with all thy tuneful spheres ;
Whilft I with feraphs fhare feraphic themes,
And fhew to men the dignity of man;
Left I blaspheme my subject with my song.
Shall pagan pages glow celeftial flame,

And chriftian languifh? on our hearts, not heads,
Falls the foul infamy: my heart! awake.
What can awake thee, unawak'd by this,

185

190

195 "Expended

"Expended deity on human weal ?” ·

Feel the great truths, which burst the tenfold night
Of heathen error, with a golden flood

Of endless day: to feel, is to be fir'd;
And to believe, Lorenzo! is to feel.

200

Thou most indulgent, moft tremendous Power!
Still more tremendous, for thy wondrous love!
That arms, which awe more aweful, thy commands;
And foul tranfgreffion dips in sevenfold night!
How our hearts tremble at thy love immenfe!
In love immenfe, inviolably juft!

Thou, rather than thy juffice fhould be stain'd,
Didst stain the Crofs; and work of wonders far
The greatest, that thy dearest far might bleed.

205

Bold thought! fhall I dare fpeak it, or reprefs? 210
Should man more execrate, or boaft, the guilt
Which rous'd fuch vengeance? which fuch love inflam'd?
O'er guilt (how mountainous!) with out-ftretch'd arms,
Stern juftice and foft-finiling love embrace,
Supporting, in full majefty, thy throne,
When feem'd its majefty to need support,
Or that, or man, inevitably loft;
What, but the fathomlefs of thought divine,
Could labour fuch expedient from despair,
And refcue bath? both refcue! both exalt!

O how are both exalted by the deed!
The wondrous deed! or fhall I call it more?
A wonder in Omnipotence itself!

A mystery no lefs to gods than men!

215

220

Not

Not thus, our infidels th' Eternal draw,

A God ail o'er, confummate, abfolute,
Full-orb'd, in his whole round of rays complete:
They fet at odds heaven's jarring attributes;

And, with one excellence, another wound;

225

Maim heaven's perfection, break its equal beams, 230
Bid mercy triumph over-God himself,
Undeify'd by their opprobrious praise :
A God all mercy, is a God unjust.

Ye brainlefs wits! ye baptiz'd infidels!

Ye worfe for mending! wafh'd to fouler stains!
The ranfom was paid down; the fund of heaven,
Heaven's inexhauftible, exhaufted fund,
Amazing, and amaz'd, pour'd forth the price,
All price beyond: though curious to compute,
Archangels fail'd to caft the mighty fum:
Its value vaft, ungrafp'd by minds create,
For ever hides, and glows, in the Supreme.

235

240

And was the ranfom paid? it was: and paid (What can exalt the bounty more?) for you.

The fun beheld it-no, the fhocking fcene

245

Drove back his chariot: Midnight veil'd his face;

Not fuch as this; not fuch as nature makes;
A midnight nature shudder'd to behold;

A midnight new! a dread eclipfe (without
Oppofing spheres) from her Creator's frown!

250

Sun! didit thou fly thy Maker's pain? Or start

At that enormous load of human guilt,

Which bow'd his bleffed head; o'erwhelm'd his crofs; Made groan the centre; burft earth's marble womb,