THE COMPLAINT. NIGHT 1. ON LIFE, DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. TO THE RIGHT HON. ARTHUR ONSLOW, ESQ SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. TIRED Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep! Where Fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes, And lights on lids unsullied 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 5 Tumultuous; where my wreck'd, desponding thougnt From wave to wave of fancied misery 11 At random drove, her helm of reason lost. Though now restored, 'tis only change of pain, (A bitter change!) severer for severe. The Day too short for my distress; and Night, 15 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 Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause: 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 though (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 30 35 Primeval Silence, when the morning stars, Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball; O Thou! whose word from solid darkness struck soul; 40 That spark, the Sun, strike wisdom from my 45 50 The bell strikes one. We take no note of time 55 But from its loss: to give it then a tongue Is wise in man As if an angel spoke 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. 60 It is the signal that demands despatch: 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. 65 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! 70 Who centred in our make such strange extremes ! 'Tis past conjecture; all things rise in proof: Hurl'd headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool, 15 75 80 85 90 95 100 Her ceaseless flight, though devious, speaks her nature 105 Unfetter'd with her gross companion's fall. Slumbers, raked up in dust, ethereal fire? They live! they greatly live! a life on earth 110 Unkindled, unconceived, and from an eye Of tenderness let heavenly pity fall On ine, more justly number'd with the dead. This is the desert, this the solitude : 115 The vale funereal, the sad cypress gloom; The land of apparitions, empty shades! All, all on earth is shadow, all beyond 120 Is substance; the reverse is Folly's creed. How solid all, where change shall be no more! This is the bud of boing, the dim dawn, The twilight of our day, the vestibule : Life's theatre, as yet is shut; and Death, 125 Strong Death, alone can heave the massy bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, 130 Yet man, fool man! here buries all his thoughts, Inters celestial hopes without one sigh: 136 Prisoner of earth and pent beneath the moon, Here pinions all his wishes; wing'd by Heaven To fly at infinite, and reach it there, |