Fum in her feat, and swift in her career, Enjoys their violence; and, fmiling, thanks Their formidable flame for high renown.

200. Pilure of Narciffa, Defcription of her attal, and a Reflection upon Man." YOUNG. SWEET harmonift! and beautiful as fweet!

And young as beautiful! and foft as young! And gay as foft! and innocent as gay! And happy (if aught happy here) as good! For fortune fond had built her neft on high. Lake birds quite exquifite of note and plume, Transfix'd by fate (who loves a lofty mark) How from the fummit of the grove the fell, And left it unharmonious!, All its charms Extinguish'd in the wonders of her fong! Her fong ftill vibrates in my ravifh'd car, Still melting there, and with voluptuous pain (0 to forget her!) thrilling thro' my heart! Song, Beauty, Youth, Love, Virtue, Joy! this Of bright ideas, flow'rs of paradife, As yet unforfeit! in one blaze we bind, Kneel, and prefent it to the fkies; as all We guefs of heaven, and thefe were all her own. And the was mine; and I was-was!-moft Gay title of the deepest mifery! [bleft

[group

As bodies grow more pond'rous robb'd of life,
Good loft weighs more in grief than gain'd in joy.
Like bloffom'd trees o'erturn'd by vernal ftorm,
Lovely in death the beauteous ruin lay;
And if in death still lovely, lovelier there;
Far lovelier! pity fwells the tide of love.
And will not the fevere excufe a figh?
Scorn the proud man that is afham'd to weep;
Our tears indulg'd indeed deserve our shame,
Ye that e'er loft an angel! pity me.

Soon as the luftre languish'd in her eye,
Dawning a dimmer day on human fight;
And on her cheek, the refidence of fpring,
Pale omen fat, and scatter'd fears around
On all that faw (and who would ceafe to gaze
That once had feen?)--with hafte, parental hafte,
I flew, I fnatch'd her from the rigid north,
Her native bed, on which bleak Borcas blew,
And bore her nearer to the fun; the fun
(As if the fun could envy) check'd his beam,
Denied his wonted fuccour; nor with more
Regret beheld her drooping, than the bells
Of lilies; faireft lilies, not to fair!

Queen lilies and ye painted populace Who dwell in fields, and lead ambrofial lives; In morn and ev'ning dew your beauties bathe, And drink the fun; which gives your cheeks to And out-blush (mine excepted) every fair; [glow, You gladier grew, ambitious of her hand, Which often cropt your odours, incenfe meet To thought fo pure! Ye lovely fugitives! Coeval race with man! for man you smile; Why not fimile at him too? You fhare indeed His fudden pafs, but not his conftant pain.

So man is made, nought minifters delight, But what his glowing paffions can engage; And glowing paflions, bent on aught below, Maft foon or late with anguifh turn the scale;

And anguish, after rapture, how severe !
Rapture Bold man who tempts the wrath divine,
By plucking fruit denied to mortal tafte,
While here prefuming on the rights of Heaven.
For tranfport doft thou call on ev'ry hour,
Lorenzo? At thy friend's expence be wife;
Lean not on earth, 'twill pierce thee to the heart;
A broken reed at beft, but oft a spear;
On its sharp point peace bleeds, and hope expires.
Turn, hopelets thoughts! turn from her :-
thought repell'd

Refenting rallies, and wakes ev'ry woc.
Snatch'd ere thy prime, and in thy bridal hour!
And when kind fortune, with thy lover, fmil'd!
And when high flavcur'd thy freth op'ning joys!
And when blind man pronounc'd thy blits com-
plete!

And on a foreign fhore, where ftrangers wept!
Strangers to thee; and, more furprifing ftill,
Strangers to kindnefs wept: their eyes let fall
Inhuman tears; ftrange tears! that trickled down
From marble hearts! ol durate tendernefs!
A tenderness that call'd them more fevere;
In fpite of nature's foft perfuafion, steel'd;
While nature melted, fuperftition rav'd;
That mourn'd the dead, and this denied a grave,

Their fighs incens'd, fighs foreign to the will!
Their will the tiger fuck'd, outrag'd the storm,
For, oh! the curs'd ungodliness of zeal!
While finful flesh relented, fpirit nurs'd
In blind infallibility's embrace,
The fainted fpirit petrified the breaft:
Denied the charity of duft, to spread
O'er duft! a charity their dogs enjoy.
What could I do? what fuccour? what refource?
With pious facrilege a grave I ftole,
With impious piety that grave I wrong'd;
Short in my duty, coward in my grief!
More like her murderer than friend, I crept
With foft fufpended step, and muffled deep
In midnight darknefs whifper'd my laft figh.
I whisper'd what fhould echo thro' their realms;
Nor writ her name whofe tomb fhould pierce the

fkics.

Prefumptuous fear! How durft I dread her foes,
While nature's loudeft dictates I obey'd?
Pardon neceflity, bleft fhade! Of grief
And indignation rival burfts I pour'd;
Half execration mingled with my pray'r;
Kindled at man, while I his God ador'd;
Sore grudg'd the favage land her facred duft;
Stamp'd the curs'd foil; and with humanity
(Denied Narcisla) wifh'd them all a grave.

Glows my refentment into guilt? What guilt Can equal violations of the dead?

The dead how facred! Sacred is the duft
Of this heaven-labour'd form, erect, divine;
This heaven-affum'd majestic robe of earth
He deign'd to wear, who hung the vast expanfe
With azure bright, and cloth'd the fun in gold.
When ev'ry pallion fleeps that can offend;
When ftrikes us ev'ry motive that can melt;
When man can wreak his rancour uncontroul'd,
That ftrongest curb on infult and ill-will;
Then fpleen to duft the duft of innocence?

An angel's duft-This Lucifer transcends :
When he contended for the patriarch's bones,
'Twas not the ftrife of malice, but of pride;
The ftrife of pontiff pride, not pontiff gall.

Far lefs than this is fhocking, in a race
Moft wretched but from ftreams of mutual love;
And uncreated, but for love divine;
And, but for love divine, this moment loft,
By fate reforb'd, and funk in endless night.
Man hard of heart to man! of horrid things
Moft horrid 'Mid ftupendous, highly ftrange!
Yet oft his courtefies are fmoother wrongs;
Pride brandishes the favours He confers,
And contumelious his humanity:
What then his vengeance? Hear it not, ye ftars!
And thou, pale moon ! turn paler at the found;
Man is to man the foreft, fureft ill.
A previous blaft foretels the rifing storm;
O'erwhelming turrets threaten ere they fall;
Volcanos bellow ere they difembogue;
Earth trembles cre her yawning jaws devour;
And smoke betrays the wide-confuming fire:
Ruin from man is moft conceal'd when near,
And fends the dreadful tidings in the blow.
Is this the flight of fancy? Would it were!
Heaven's Sovereign faves all beings but himfelf
That hideous fight, a naked human heart!

203. Dying Friends. YOUNG.
OUR dying friends come o'er us like a cloud
To damp our brainless ardours; and abate
That glare of life, which often blinds the wife.
Our dying friends are pioneers, to smooth
Our rugged pafs to death; to break those bars
Of terror and abhorrence nature throws
Crofs our obftructed way; and thus to make
Welcome, as fafe, our port from ev'ry ftorm.
Each friend by fate fnatch'd from us, is a piume
Pluck'd from the wing of human vanity,
Which makes us ftoop from our aerial heights,
And, damp'd with omen of our own difeale,
On drooping pinions of ambition lower'd,
Juft fkim earth's furface, ere we break it up,
O'er putrid earth to fcratch a little duft,
And fave the world a nuifance. Smitten friends
Are angels fent on errands full of love;
For us they languifh, and for us they die:
And fhall they languifh, fhall they die in vain ?
Ungrateful, fhall we grieve their hov'ring fhades,

Which wait the revolution in our hearts?
Shall we difdain their filent, soft addrefs;

Their pofthumous advice, and pious pray'r?
Senfelefs as herds that graze the hallow'd graves,
Tread under foot their agonies and groans;
Fruftrate their anguish, and destroy their deaths?
Lorenzo, no! the thought of death indulge;
Give it its wholefome empire! let it reign,
That kind chaftifer of thy foul in joy!
Its reign will spread thy glorious conquefts far,
And ftill the tumults of thy ruffled breast:
Aufpicious æra! golden days, begin!
The thought of death fhall like a god infpire.

BL

§ 204. Thanks to the Deity. YOUNG.
LEST be that hand divine, which gently laid
My heart at reft, beneath this humble fhed.
The world's a stately bark on dang'rous feas,
With pleasure feen, but boarded at our peril;
Here, on a fingle plank, thrown fafe afhore,
I hear the tumult of the diftant throng,
As that of feas remote, or dying ftorms:
And meditate on fcenes more filent ftill;
Purfue my theme, and fight the Fear of Death.
Here, like a thepherd gazing from his hut,
Touching his reed, or leaning on his staff,
Eager ambition's fiery chace I fee;

I fee the circling hunt of noify men
Burft law's inclosure, leap the mounds of right,
Pursuing, and purfued, each others prey;
As wolves, for rapine; as the fox, for wiles;
Till Death, that mighty hunter, earths them all.

To none man feems ignoble, but to man;
Angels that grandeur men o'erlook, admire:
How long fhall human nature be their book,
Degen'rate mortal! and unread by thee?
The beam dim reafon fheds fhews wonders there;
But the grand comment, which difplays at full
What high contents! Illuftrious faculties'
By Heaven compos'd, was publish'd on the cross.
Our human height, fcarce fever'd from divine,

I

Who looks on that, and fees not in himself An awful stranger, a terrestrial god? A glorious partner with the Deity If a God bleeds, he bleeds not for a worm: In that high attribute, immortal life? gaze; and, as I gaze, my mounting foul Catches ftrange fire, Eternity! at thee; How chang'd the face of nature! how improv'd! And drops the world-or rather, more enjoys: What feem'd a chaos, fhines a glorious world, Or, what a world, an Eden; heighten'd all!

It is another fcene, another self!
And fill another as time rolls along;
And that a felf far more illuftrious ftill.
Beyond long ages, yet roll'd up in fhades,
Unpiere'd by bold conjecture's keeneft ray,
What evolutions of furprising fate!
How nature opens, and receives my foul
Inboundlefs walks of raptur'd thought! where gods
Encounter and embrace me! What new births
Of frange adventure, foreign to the fun,
Where what now charms, perhaps whate'er exifts,
Old time, and fair creation, are forgot!
Is this extravagant? Of man we form
Extravagant conception, to be just :
Conception unconfin'd wants wings to reach him!
Beyond its reach, the Godhead only, more.
He, the great Father! kindled at one flame
The world of rationals; one spirit pour'd
From fpirit's awful fountain; pour'd Himself
Thro' all their fouls; but not in equal stream,
Profufe, or frugal, of th’inspiring God,
As his wife plan demanded; and when paft
Their various trials, in their various fpheres,
If they continue rational, as made,
Reforbs them all into Himself again;

His throne their centre, and his fimile their crown.

207. Feeling. YOUNG.

WHO never lov'd ne'er fuffer'd; he feels nothing,

Who nothing feels but for himself alone; And when we feel for others, reafon reels, O'erloaded, from her path, and man runs mad. As love alone can exquifitely blefs, Love only feels the marvellous of pain; Opens new veins of torture in the foul, And wakes the nerve where agonies are born.

208. Religion. YOUNG. RELIGION's all. Defcending from the fkies To wretched man, the Goddess in her left Halds out this world, and in her right the next; Religion! the fole voucher man is man; Supporter fole of man above himself; Even in this night of frailty, change, and death, She gives the foul a foul that acts a god. Religion! Providence! an after-state Here is firm footing; here is folid rock! This can fupport us; all is fea befides; Saks under us; beftorms, and then devours. His hand the good man faltens on the fkies, And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl.

As when a wretch from thick, polluted air, Darknefs, and ftench, and fuffocating damps, And dungeon-horrors, by kind fate difcharg'd, Cumbs fome fair eminence, where ether puie Surrounds him, and Elyfian profpects rife, His heart exults, his fpirits caft their load; As if new-born, he triumphs in the change; Sjoys the foul, when from inglorious aims, And fordid fweets, from feculence and froth Of ries terreftrial, fet at large, the mounts To Reafon's region, her own clement,

Breathes hopes immortal, and affects the skies.
Religion thou the foul of happiness;
And groaning Calvary, of thee! There thine
The nobleft truths; there ftrongest motives fting,
There facred violence affaults the foul;
There nothing but compulfion is forborn.
Can love allure us, or can terror awe?
He weeps the falling drop puts out the fun;
He fighs!the fighearth's deep foundation shakes
If in his love fo terrible, what then

His wrath inflam'd, his tenderness on fire?
Like foft, finooth oil, out-blazing other fires?
Can pray'r, can praife avert it -Thou, my All!
My theme! my infpiration! and my crown!
My ftrength in age! my rife in low eftate!
My foul's ambition! pleasure! wealth! my world!
My light in darknefs! and my life in death!
My boast thro' time! blits thro' eternity!
Eternity, too fhort to fpeak thy praife!
Or fathom thy profound of love to man;
To man of men the meaneft, even to me:

My facrifice! my God!-what things are these

$209. Jealousy. YOUNG.

JEALOUSY! each other paffion's calm

To thee, thou conflagration of the foul! Thou king of torments! thou grand counterpoize For all the tranfports beauty can inipire!

$ 210. Faith and Reafon. YOUNG.

FOND as we are, and juftly fond, of faith,

Reason, we grant, demands our firft regard, The mother honour'd, as the daughter dear. Reafon the root, fair faith is but the flow'r; The fading flow'r fhall die; but reafon lives Immortal, as her Father in the skies. When faith is virtue, reafon makes it fo.

yours:

Wrong not the Chriftian; think not reason 'Tis reafon our great Mafter holds fo dear; 'Tis reafon's injur'd rights His wrath refents; 'Tis reafon's voice obey'd His glories crown; To give loft reafon life, He pour'd his own: Believe, and fhew the reafon of a man; Believe, and taste the pleasure of a God; Believe, and look with triumph on the tomb; Thro' reafon's wounds alone thy faith can die; Which dying, tenfold terror gives to death, And dips in venom his twice-mortal fting.

§ 211. Misfortune. YOUNG. MISFORTUNE ftands with her bow ever bent

Overthe world: and he who wounds another, Directs the goddefs by that part he wounds, Where to ftrike deep her arrows in himself.

§ 212. Vanity and Adulation. YOUNG. LORENZO! to recriminate is just.

I

Fondacfs for fame is avarice of air.

grant, the man is vain who writes for praife.

Praife no man e'er deferv'd, who fought no more.
As just thy fecond charge. I grant, the mufe
Has often blush'd at her degen'rate fons,
Retain'd by fenfe to plead her filthy caufe;
To raife the low, to magnify the mean,
And fubtilize the grofs into refin'd:
As if to magic numbers powerful charm
'Twas given, to make a civet of their fong
Obfcene, and fweeten ordure to perfume."
Wit, a true pagan, deifies the brute,
And lifts our fwine-enjoyments from the mire.
The fact notorious, nor obfcure the cause.
We wear the chains of pleasure and of pride.
Thefe fhare the man, and thefe distract him too;
Draw different ways, and clafh in their commands.
Pride, like an eagle, builds among the stars;
But pleature, lark-like, nefts upon the ground.
Joys thar'd by brute-creation, pride refents;
Pleafure embraces :"man would both enjoy,
And both at once: a point how hard to gain!
But what can't wit, when ftung by ftrong defire?
Wit dares attempt this arduous enterprize.
Since joys of fenfe can't rife to reason's tafte;
In fubtle fophiftry's laborious forge,

Wit hammers out a reafon new, that stoops
To fordid scenes, and meets them with applaufe.
Wit calls the graces the chafte zone to loofe;
Nor less than a plump god to fill the bowl:
A thousand phantoms, and a thousand spells,
A thoufand opiates featters, to delude,
To fafcinate, incbriate, lay afleep,
And the fool'd mind delightfully confound.
Thus that which fhock'd the judgment, fhocks

no more;

That which gave pride offence, no more offends.
Pleafure and pride, by nature mortal foes,
At war eternal, which in inan fhall reign,
By wit's address, patch up a fatal peace,
And hand in hand lead on the rank debauch,
From rank, refin'd to delicate and gay.
Art, curfed art! wipes off th' indebted bluth
From nature's cheek, and bronzes ev'ry fhame.
Man fimiles in ruin, glories in his guilt,
And infamy ftands candidate for praife.

All writ by man in favour of the foul,
These fenfual ethics far in bulk tranfcend
The flow'rs of cloquence, profufely pour'd
O'er fpotted vice, fill half the letter'd world.
Can pow'rs of genius excrcife their page,
And confec ate enormities with fong

There lies our theatre! there fits our judge.
Darkness the curtain drops o'er life's dull fcene;
'Tis the kind hand of Providence ftretch'd out
"Twixt man and vanity; 'tis reafon's reign,
And virtue's too; thefe tutelary fhades
Are man's afylum from the tainted throng.
Night is the good man's friend, and guardian too;
It no lefs refcues virtue, than infpires.

Virtue, for ever frail, as fair, below,
Her tender nature suffers in the crowd,
Nor touches on the world without a stain:
The world's infectious; few bring back at eve,
Immaculate, the manners of the morn.
Something we thought, is blotted; we refolv'd,
Is fhaken; we renounc'd, returns again.
Each falutation may flide in a fin
Unthought before, or fix a former flaw.
Nor is it ftrange: light, motion, concourse, noife,
All fcatter us abroad; thought outward bound,
Neglectful of our home affairs, flies off
In fume and diffipation, quits her charge,
And leaves the breast unguarded to the foe.

Prefent example gets within our guard, And acts with double force, by few repell'd. Ambition fires ambition; love of gain Strikes like a peftilence, from breast to breast; Riot, pride, perfidy, blue vapours breathe; And inhumanity is caught from man, From fmiling man. A flight, a fingle glance, And fhot at random, often has brought home A fudden fever to the throbbing heart, Of envy, rancour, or impure defire. We fee, we hear, with peril; fafety dwells Remote from multitude; the world's a school Of wrong, and what proficients fwarm around! We must or imitate or difapprove, Mutt lift as their accomplices or foes; That ftains our innocence, this wounds our peace. From nature's birth hence wifdom has been fmit With fweet recefs, and languifh'd for the fhade, This facred fhade, and folitude, what is it? 'Tis the felt prefence of the Deity. Few are the faults we flatter when alone: Vice finks in her allurements, is ungilt, And looks, like other objects, black by night, By night an Atheist half-believes a God.

Night is fair virtue's immemorial friend;
The confcious moon, thro' ev'ry diftant age,
Has held a lamp to wisdom, and let fall
On contemplation's eye her purging ray.
The fam'd Athenian, he who woo'd from heaven
Philofophy the fair, to dwell with men,
And form their manners, not inframe their pride,
While o'er his head, as fearful to moleft
His labouring mind, the stars in filence slide,
And feem all gazing on their future gucft,
See him foliciting his ardent fuit

In private audience; all the live-long night,
Rigid in thought, and motionless, he ftands;
Nor quits his theme, or pofture, till the fun
(Rude drunkard, rifing rofy from the main!)
Disturbs his nobler intellectual beam,
And gives him to the tumult of the world.
Hail, precious moments! ftol'n from the black wafte

of