acknowledged by all, that they evidence a singular genius, a lively fancy, an extensive knowledge of men and things, especially of the feelings of the human heart, and paint, in the strongest colours, the vanity of life, with all its fading honours and emoluments, the benefits of true piety, especially in the views of death, and the most unanswerable arguments, in support of the soul's immortality, and a future state,

G. W.

PREFACE.

AS the occasion of this Poem was real, not fictitious; so the method pursued in it, was rather imposed, by what spontaneously arose in the Author's mind, on that occasion, than meditated, or designed. Which will appear very probable from the nature of it. For it differs from the common mode of poetry, which is, from long narrations to draw short morals. Here, on the contrary, the narrative is short, and the morality arising from it makes the bulk of the Poem. The reason of it is, that the facts mentioned did naturally pour these moral reflections on the thought of the writer.

THE

COMPLAINT.

NIGHT I.

ON LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY.

HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO THE LIGHT HONOURABLE ARTI

ONSLOW, ESQ; SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.

TIR'D Nature's sweet Restorer, balmy Sleep!
He, like the world, his ready visit pays
Where Fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes;
Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe,
And lights on lids unsully'd with a tear.

From short (as usual) and disturb'd repose,
I wake: How happy they, who wake no more!
Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the grave.
I wake, emerging from a sea of dreams

Tumultuous; where my wreck'd desponding though
From wave to wave of fancy'd misery,

At random drove, her helm of reason lost

B

Though now restor'd, 'tis only change of pain,
A biber change!) severer for severe and
The Day too short for my distress; and Night,
Ev'n in the zenith of her dark domain,

Is sunshine to the colour of

my fate. Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumb'ring world. Silence, how dead; and darkness, how profound! Nor eye, nor list'ning ear, an object finds; Creation sleeps. "Tis as the general pulse Of Life stood still, and Nature made a pause; An awful pause! prophetic of her end. And let her prophecy be soon fulfill'd: Fate, drop the curtain; I can lose no more.

Silence and Darkness! solemn sisters! twins From ancient Night, who nurse the tender thought To Reason, and on Reason build Resolve, (That column of true majesty in man) Assist me: I will thank you in the grave; The grave, your kingdom: there this frame shall fall A victim sacred to your dreary shrine.

But what are ye?.

THOU, who didst put to flight

Primeval silence, when the morning stars,
Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball;

O THOU, whose word from solid darkness struck
That spark, the sun, strike wisdom from my soul;
My soul, which flies to Thee, her trust, her treasure,
As misers to their gold, while others rest.

Through this opaque of Nature and of Soul, This double night, transmit one pitying ray, To lighten and to cheer. O lead my mind, A mind that fain would wander from its woe) Lead it through various scenes of life and death; And, frein each scene, the noblest truths inspire.

Nor less inspire my Conduct, than my Song:
Teach my best reason, reason; my best will
Teach rectitude; and fix my firm resolve
Wisdom to wed, and pay her long arrear:
Nor let the phial of thy vengeance, pour'd
On this devoted head, be pour'd in vain.

The bell strikes One. We take no note of time
But from its loss. To give it, then, a tongue,
As if an angel spoke,

Is wise in man.

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,
It is the knell of my departed hours:

Where are they? With the years beyond the flood.
It is the signal that demands dispatch:

How much is to be done? My hopes and fears
Start up alarm'd, and o'er life's narrow verge
Look down. On what? a fathomless abyss!
A dread eternity! how surely mine!
And can eternity belong to me,

Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,
How complicate, how wonderful, is man!
How passing wonder HE, who made him such!
Who center'd in our make such strange extremes!
From diff'rent natures marvellously mixt;
Connexion exquisite of distant worlds!
Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain,
Midway from nothing to the Deity!
A beam ethereal, sully'd, and absorpt!
Though sully'd and dishonour'd, still divine!
Dim miniature of greatness absolute!
An heir of glory! a frail child of dust!
Helpless immortal! insect infinite!

A worm! a god!--I tremble at my« slf,
And in myself am lost! at home a ranger,
Thought wanders up and down, sui ris'd, aghast,
And wond'ring at her own. How reson reels!