THE COMPLAINT. NIGHT THE FIRST. ON LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY. TO THE Right Honourable Arthur Onslow, Esq. SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. TIRED Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where Fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes: From short (as usual) and disturb'd repose, At random drove, her helm of reason lost. Though now restored, 'tis only change of pain: The day too short for my distress; and night, 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 slumbering world. Silence how dead! and darkness how profound! Nor eye, nor listening 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 |