Of philosophic wit, call'd Argument,

And then exulting in their taper, cry,

'Behold the Sun!' and, Indianlike, adore.

780

Talk they of morals? O thou bleeding Love!

Thou Maker of new morals to mankind!

The grand morality is love of Thee.

As wise as Socrates, if such they were

(Nor will they bate of that sublime renown,)

785

As wise as Socrates might justly stand

The definition of a modern fool.

A Christian is the highest style of man!

And is there who the blessed Cross wipes off,
As a foul blot, from his dishonour'd brow?
If angels tremble, 'tis at such a sight:

790

The wretch they quit, desponding of their charge,
More struck with grief or wonder who can tell?
Ye sold to sense! ye citizens of earth'

(For such alone the Christian banner fly)

795

Know ye how wise your choice, how great your gain? Behold the picture of Earth's happiest man:

says

'He calls his wish, it comes: he sends it back,
And he call'd another: that arrives,
Meets the same welcome; yet he still calls on;
Till one calls him, who varies not his call,
But holds him fast, in chains of darkness bound,
Till Nature dies, and Judgment sets him free;
A freedom far less welcome than his chain.'

800

But grant man happy; grant him happy long; 805 Add to life's highest prize her latest hour;

That hour, so late, is nimble in approach,

That, like a post, comes on in full career.

810

How swift the shuttle flies that weaves thy shroud!
Where is the fable of thy formor years?
Thrown down the gulf of time; as far from thee
As they had near been thine; the day in hand,
Like a bird struggling to get loose, is going;
Scarce now possess'd, so suddenly 'tis gone;
And each swift moment fled, is death advanced
སྙ

815

By strides as swift. Eternity is all;
And whose eternity? who triumphs there?
Bathing for ever in the font of bliss!
For ever basking in the Deity!

Lorenzo! who?-thy conscience shall reply.

O give it leave to speak; 'twill speak ere long
Thy leave unask'd. Lorenzo! hear it now,
While useful its advice, its accent mild.
By the great edict, the divine decree,
Truth is deposited with man's last hour;
An honest hour, and faithful to her trust;
Truth! eldest daughter of the Deity!

620

825

835

Truth of his council when he made the worlds;
Nor less, when he shall judge the worlds he made;
Though silent long, and sleeping ne'er so sound, 830
Smother'd with errors, and oppress'd with toys,
That heaven-commission'd hour no sooner calls,
But from her cavern in the soul's abyss,
Like him they fable under Ætna whelm'd,
The goddess bursts in thunder and in flame,
Loudly convinces, and severely pains.
Dark demons I discharge, and hydra-stings;
The keen vibration of bright Truth-is Hell;
Just definition! though by schools untaught.
Ye deaf to truth! peruse this parson'd page,
And trust, for once, a prophet and a priest ;—
'Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.'

840

NIGHT V.

The Relapse.

TO THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF LITCHFIELD.

LORENZO to recriminate is just.

'Fondness for fame is avarice of air.'

I grant the man is vain who writes for praise :
Praise no man e'er deserved, who sought no more.
As just thy second charge. I grant the Muse
Has often blush'd at her degenerate sons,
Retain'd by Sense to plead her filthy cause,
To raise the low, to magnify the mean,
And subtilize the gross into refined;
As if to magic numbers' powerful charm
'Twas given to make a civet of their song
Obscene, and sweeten ordure to perfume.
Wit, a true pagan, deifies the brute,

And lifts our swine enjoyments from the mire.
The fact notorious, nor obscure the cause.
We wear the chains of pleasure and of pride:
These share the man, and these distract him too;
Draw different ways, and clash in their commands.
Pride, like an eagle, builds among the stars;
But Pleasure, larklike, nests upon the ground,
Joys, shared by brute creation, Pride resents;
Pleasure embraces; man would both enjoy,
And hoth at once: a point how hard to gain!
But what can't Wit, when stung by strong desire?
Wit dares attempt this arduous enterprise.
Since joys of Sense can't rise to Reason's taste,

In subtle Sophistry's laborious forge

Wit hammers out a reason new, that stoops

To sordid scenes, and meets them with applause.
Wit calls the Graces the chaste zone to loose,

30

Nor less than a plump god to fill the bowl:
A thousand phantoms and a thousand spells,
A thousand opiates scatters to delude,
To fascinate, inebriate, lay asleep,

And the fool'd mind delightfully confound.

35

Thus that which shock'd the judgment shocks no more; That which gave pride offence, no more offends. Pleasure and Pride, by nature mortal foes,

At war eternal, which in mạn shall reign,
By Wit's address patch up a fatal peace,
And hand in hand lead on the rank debauch,
From rank, refined to delicate and gay.
Art, cursed Art! wipes off the' indebted blush
From Nature's cheek, and bronzes every shame.
Man smiles in ruin, glories in his guilt,
And Infamy stands candidate for praise.

40

45

All writ by man in favour of the soul, These sensual ethics far, in bulk, transcend. The flowers of eloquence, profusely pour'd O'er spotted Vice, fill half the letter'd world. Can powers of genius exercise their page, And consecrate enormities with song!

But let not these inexpiable strains
Condemn the Muse that knows her dignity,
Nor meanly stops at time, but holds the world
As 'tis, in Nature's ample field, a point,

A point in her esteem; from whence to start,
And run the round of universal space,

To visit being universal there,

And being's Source, that utmost flight of mind!
Yet spite of this so vast circumference,
Well knows but what is moral nought is ~-
Sing sirens only? do not angel --`

There is in Poesy a decent

Which well becomes her when she speaks to Prose, Her younger sister, haply not more wise.

Think'st thou, Lorenzo, to find pastimes here?

No guilty passion blown into a flame,

No foible flatter'd, dignity disgraced,
No fairy field of fiction, all on flower,

No rainbow colours, here, or silken tale;
But solemn counsels, images of awe,
Truths, which Eternity lets fall on man,

66

70

75

With double weight through these revolving spheres.
This death-deep silence, and incumbent shade:
Thoughts such as shall revisit your last hour,
Visit uncall'd, and live when life expires;
And thy dark pencil, Midnight! darker still
In melancholy dipp'd, imbrowns the whole.

85

90

Yet this, e'en this, my laughter-loving friends! 80 Lorenzo and thy brothers of the smile ' If what imports you most can most engage, Shall steal your ear, and chain you to my song. Or if you fail me, know the wise shall taste The truths I sing; the truths I sing shall feel; And, feeling, give assent; and their assent Is ample recompense; is more than praise. But chiefly thine, O Litchfield !-nor mistake; Think not unintroduced I force my way. Narcissa, not unknown, not unallied By virtue, or by blood, illustrious youth! To thee, from blooming amaranthine bowers, Where all the language harmony, descends Uncall'd, and asks admittance for the Muse; A Muse that will not pain thee with thy praise: Thy praise she drops, by nobler still inspired. O thou, bless'd Spirit! whether the Supreme, Great antemundane Father! in whose breast Embryo-Creation, unborn being dwelt, And all its various revolutions roll'd Present, though future, prior to themselves; Whose breath can blow it into nought again,

95

100