Puslapio vaizdai

Clouds, thick as thofe on Doomsday, drown the next; We penetrate, we prophefy in vain.

Time is dealt out by Particles; and each,

Ere mingled with the ftreaming Sands of Life,
By Fate's inviolable Oath is fworn

Deep Silence, "Where Eternity begins."

By Nature's Law, what may be, may be now;
There's no Prerogative in human Hours.
In human Hearts what bolder Thought can rife,
Than Man's Prefumption on To-morrow's Dawn?
Where is To-morrow? In another World.
For Numbers this is certain; the Reverse
Is fure to none; and yet on this Perhaps,
This Peradventure, infamous for Lyes,
As on a Rock of Adamant we build
Our mountain Hopes; spin out eternal Schemes,
As we the Fatal Sifters could out-spin,

And, big with Life's Futurities, expire.

Not ev❜n PHILANDER had bespoke his Shroud.
Nor had He Caufe, a Warning was deny'd;
How many fall as fudden, not as fafe!
As fudden, tho' for Years admonisht home.
On human Ills the last Extreme beware,
Beware, LORENZO! a flow-fudden Death.
How dreadful that deliberate Surprize!
Be wife To-day; 'tis Madnefs to defer;
Next Day the fatal Precedent will plead;
B 2


Thus on, till Wisdom is pufh'd out of Life.
Procrastination is the Thief of Time;
Year after Year it fteals, till all are fled,
And to the Mercies of a Moment leaves
The vaft Concerns of an eternal Scene.
If not fo frequent, would not This be strange
That 'tis fo frequent, This is ftranger still.

Of Man's miraculous Mistakes, this bears The Palm, "That all Men are about to live," For ever on the Brink of being born.


pay themselves the Compliment to think
They, one Day, fhall not drivel; and their Pride
On this Reversion takes up ready Praise;

At least, their own; their future Selves applauds;
How excellent that Life they ne'er will lead !
Time lodg'd in their own Hands is Folly's Vails;
That lodg'd in Fate's, to Wifdom they confign;
The Thing they can't but purpose, they poftpones
'Tis not in Folly, not to fcorn a Fool;

And scarce in human Wisdom to do more.

All Promife is poor dilatory Man,

And that thro' ev'ry Stage: When young, indeed,
In full Content we, fometimes, nobly rest,

Un-anxious for ourselves; and only wish,

As duteous Sons, our Fathers were more Wife.
At Thirty Man fufpects himself a Fool;
Knows it at Forty, and reforms his Plan;

At Fifty chides his infamous Delay,


Pushes his prudent Purpofe to Refolve;

In all the Magnanimity of Thought

Refolves; and re-refolves; then dies the fame.

And why? Because he thinks himself Immortal. All Men think all Men mortal, but Themselves; Themselves, when fome alarming Shock of Fate Strikes thro' their wounded Hearts the fudden Dread; But their Hearts wounded, like the wounded Air, Soon close; where past the Shaft, no Trace is found. As from the Wing no Scar the Sky retains;

The parted Wave no Furrow from the Keel;

So dies in human Hearts the Thought of Death.
Ev'n with the tender Tear which Nature fheds
O'er those we love, we drop it in their Grave.
Can I forget PHILANDER? That were strange;
O my full Heart! But fhould I give it vent,
The longest Night, tho' longer far, would fail,
And the Lark listen to my Midnight Song.

The spritely Lark's fhrill Matin wakes the Morn;
Grief's fharpest Thorn hard-preffing on my Breast,
I ftrive, with wakeful Melody to chear
The fullen Gloom, fweet Philomel! like Thee,
And call the Stars to liften: Ev'ry Star
Is deaf to mine, enamour'd of thy Lay.
Yet be not vain; there are, who thine excell,
And charm thro' diftant Ages: Wrapt in Shade,
Pris'ner of Darkness! to the filent Hours,

B 3



How often I repeat their Rage divine,

To lull my Griefs, and fleal my Heart from Woe!
I roll their Raptures, but not catch their Flames.
Dark, tho' not blind, like thee Mæonides!

Or Milton! thee; ah could I reach your Strain!
Or His, who made Mæonides our Own.

Man too He fung: Immortal Man, I fing;

Oft bursts my Song beyond the Bounds of Life;
What, now, but Immortality can please?
O had He prefs'd his Theme, purfu'd the Track,
Which opens out of Darkness into Day!

O had he mounted on his Wing of Fire,

Soar'd, where I fink, and fung Immortal Man !
How had it bleft Mankind, and refcu'd me?






Time, Death, Friendship.





HEN the Cock crew, he wept" Smote [by that Eye,

Which looks on me, on All: That Pow'r,

This Midnight Centinel with Clarion shrill,

[who bids

Emblem of that which shall awake the Dead,
Rouze Souls from Slumber, into Thoughts of Heaven.
Shall I too weep? Where then is Fortitude?
And Fortitude abandon'd, where is Man?
I know the Terms on which he fees the Light;
He that is born, is lifted; Life is War;

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