« VorigeDoorgaan »
That awful independent on to-morrow !
As man's despotic will, perhaps one hour, Whose work is done ; who triumphs in the past ; (0 how omnipotent is time !) decrees; Whose yesterdays look backwards with a smile ; Should not each warning give a strong alarm ? Nor, like the Parthian, wound him as they fly ; Warning, far less than that of bosom torn That common, but opprobrious lot! past hours, From bosom, bleeding o'er the sacred dead! If not by guilt, yet wound us by their flight, Should not each dial strike us as we pass, If folly bounds our prospect by the grave,
Portentous, as the wrillen wall, which struck, All feeling of futurity benumb'd;
O'er midnight bowls, the proud Assyrian pale, All godlike passion for eternals quencht;
Ere-while high-flusht with insolence and wine? All relish of realities expir'd ;
Like that, the dial speaks; and points to thee, Renounc'd all correspondence with the skies ; Lorenzo! loth to break thy banquet up. Our freedom chain'd ; quite wingless our desire ; “O man, thy kingdom is departing from thee; In sense dark-prison'd all that ought to soar; And, while it lasts, is emptier than my shade.” Prone to the centre ; crawling in the dust; Its silent language such : nor need'st thou call Disinounted every great and glorious aim; Thy Magi, to decipher what it means. Embruted every faculty divine ;
Know, like the Median, fate is in thy walls : Heart-buried in the rubbish of the world.
Dost ask, How? Whence? Belshazzar-like, amaz'd? The world, that gulf of souls, immortal souls, Man's make incloses the sure seeds of death ; Souls elevate, angelic, wing'd with fire
Life feeds the murderer: Ingrate! he thrives To reach the distant skies, and triumph there On her own meal, and then his nurse devours. On thrones, which shall not mourn their masters But here, Lorenzo, the delusion lies : chang'd :
That solar shadow, as it measures life, Though we from Earth ; ethereal, they that fell. It life resembles too: life speeds away Such veneration due, O man, to man.
From point to point, though seeming to stand still Who venerate themselves, the world despise. The cunning fugitive is swift by stealih: For what, gay friend ! is this escutcheon'd world, Too subtle is the movement to be seen; Which hangs out Death in one eternal night; Yet soon man's hour is up, and we are gone. A night, that glooms us in the noontide ray, Warnings point out our danger; gnomons, time And wraps our thought, at banqueis, in the shroud ? As these are useless when the Sun is set; Life's little stage is a small eminence,
So those, but when more glorious reason shines. Inch-high the grave above ; that home of man, Reason should judge in all; in reason's eye, Where dwells the multitude : We gaze around ; That sedentary shadow travels hard. We read their monuments; we sigh; and while But such our gravitation to the wrong, We sigh, we sink ; and are what we deplor'd ; So prone our hearts to whisper what we wish, Lamenting, or lamented, all our lot!
"Tis later with the wise than he's aware : Is Death at distance? No; he has been on thee, A Wilmington goes slower than the Sun: And giv'n sure earnest of his final blow.
And all mankind mistake their time of day; Those hours that lately smil'd, where are they now? E'en age itself. Fresh hopes are hourly sown Pallid to thought, and ghastly! drown'd, all drown'a in furrow'd brows. To gentle life's descent In that great deep, which nothing disembogues ! We shut our eyes, and think it is a plain. And, dying, they bequeath'd thee small renown. We take fair days in winter, for the spring; The rest are on the wing : how fleet their flight ! And turn our blessing into bane. Since oft Already has the fatal train took fire;
Man must compute that age he cannot feel, A moment, and the world's blown up to thee; He scarce believes he's older for his years. The Sun is darkness, and the stars are dust. Thus, at life's latest eve, we keep in store
"Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours; One disappointment sure, to crown the rest ; And ask them, what report they bore to Heaven; The disappointment of a promis'd hour. And how they might have borne more welcome On this, or similar, Philander! thou
Whose mind was moral, as the preacher's tongue, 'Their answers form what men erperience call ; And strong, to wield all science, worth the rame; If wisdom's friend, her best; if not, worst foe. How often we talk'd down the summer's Sun, O reconcile them! Kind Experience cries,
And coold our passions by the breezy stream! “ There's nothing here, but what as nothing weighs; How often thaw'd and shorten’d winter's eve, The more our joy, the more we know it vain; By conflict kind, that siruck out latent truth, And by success are tutord to despair."
Best found, so sought; to the recluse more coy! Nor is it only thus, but must be so.
Thoughts disentangle passing o'er the lip; Who knows not this, though grey, is still a child. Clean runs the thread; if not, 'tis thrown away, Loose then from Earth the grasp of fond desire, Or kept to tie up nonsense for a song ; Weigh anchor, and some happier clime explore. Song, fashionably fruitless ; such as stains
Art thou so moor'd thou canst not disengage, The fancy, and unhallow'd passion fires; Nor give thy thoughts a ply to future scenes ? Chiming her saints to Cytherea's fane. Since by life's passing breath, blown up from Earth, Know'st thou, Lorenzo! what a friend contains ? Light as the summer's dust, we take in air
As bees mixt nectar draw from fragrant flowers, A moment's giddy flight, and fall again;
So men from friendship, wisdom and delight ; Join the dull mass, increase the trodden soil, Twins tied by Nature; if they part, they die. And sleep, till Earth herself shall be no more ; Hast thou no friend to set thy mind abroach? Since then (as emmels, their small world o'erthrown) Good sense will stagnate. Thoughts shut up want We, sore amaz’d, from out Earth's ruins crawl,
air, And rise to fate extreme of foul or fair,
And spoil, like bales unopend to the Sun. As man's own choice (controller of the skies !) Had thought been all, sweet speech had been denied ;
Speech, thought's canal! speech, thought's criterion The wise extract Earth's most Hyblean bliss, too!
Superior wisdom, crown'd with smiling joy. Thought, in the mine, may come forth gold, or dross ; But for whom blossoms this Elysian flower ? When coin'd in word, we know its real worth. Abroad they find, who cherish it at home. If sterling, store it for thy future use :
Lorenzo! pardon what my love extorts, "Twill buy thee benefit; perhaps renown.
An honest love, and not afraid to frown. Thought, 100, deliverd, is the more possest; Though choice of follies fasten on the great, Teaching, we learn; and, giving, we retain None clings more obstinate than fancy, fond, The births of intellect; when dumb, forgot. That sacred Friendship is their easy prey ; Speech ventilates our intellectual fire;
Caught by the wasture of a golden lure, Speech burnishes our mental magazine;
Or fascination of a high-born smile. Brightens, for ornament; and whets, for use. Their smiles, the great, and the coquet, throw out What numbers, sheath'd in erudition, lie,
For others' hearts, tenacious of their own; Plung'd to the hilts in venerable tomes,
And we no less of ours, when such the bait. And rusted in ; who might have borne an edge, Ye fortune's coflerers! Ye powers of wealth! And play'd a sprightly beam, if born to speech; Can gold gain friendship? Impudence of hope ! If born blest heirs of half their mother's tongue ! As well mere man an angel might beget. 'Tis thought's exchange, which, like th' alternate Love, and love only, is the loan for love. push
Lorenzo! pride repress; nor hope to find Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned scum, A friend, but what has found a friend in thee. And defecates the student's standing pool.
All like the purchase ; few the price will pay ; In contemplation is his proud resource ?
And this makes friends such miracles below. 'Tis poor, as proud, by converse unsustain'd.
What if (since daring on so nice a theme) Rude thought runs wild in contemplation's field; I show thee friendship delicate, as dear, Converse, the menage, breaks it 10 the bit
of tender violations apt to die? of due restraint; and emulation's spur
Reserve will wound it; and distrust, destroy. Gives graceful energy, by rivals aw'd.
Deliberate in all things with thy friend. 'Tis converse qualifies for solitude ;
But since friends grow not thick on every bough, As exercise, for salutary rest.
Nor every friend unrotten at the core ; By that untutor’d, Contemplation raves;
First, on thy friend, deliberate with thyself; And Nature's fool, by Wisdom is undone. Pause, ponder, sift; not eager in the choice,
Wisdom, though richer than Peruvian mines, Nor jealous of the chosen ; fixing, fix; And sweeter than the sweet ambrosial hive, Judge before friendship, then confide till death. What is she, but the means of happiness?
Well, for thy friend ; but nobler far for thee; That unobtain'd, than fully more a fool;
How gallant danger for Earth's highest prize! A melancholy fool, without her bells.
A friend is worth all hazards we can run. Friend ship, the means of wisdom, richly gives Poor is the friendless master of a world : The precious end, which makes our wisdom wise. A world in purchase for a friend is gain." Nature, in zeal for bunian amily,
So sung he, (angels hear that angels sing! Denies, or damps, an undivided joy.
Angels from friendship gather half their joy,) Joy is an import; joy is an exchange;
So sung Philander, as his friend went round Joy flies monopolists: it calls for two;
In the rich ichor, in the generous blood Rich fruit! Heaven-planted! never pluckt by one. Of Bacchus, purple god of joyous wit, Needful auxiliars are our friends, to give
A brow solute, and ever-laughing eye. To social man true relish of himself.
He drank long health, and virtue, 10 his friend ; Full on ourselves, descending in a line,
His friend, who warm'd him more, who more in Pleasure's bright beam is feeble in delight:
spir'd. Delight intense is taken by rebound ;
Friendship's the wine of life ; but friendship new Reverberated pleasures fire the breast.
(Not such was his) is neither strong, nor pure.
For twenty summers ripening by my side,
All social virtues rising in his soul; Each other's pillow to repose divine.
As crystal clear; and smiling as they rise! Beware the counterfeit; in passion's flame Here nectar fous; it sparkles in our sight; Hearts melt, but melt like ice, soon harder froze. Rich to the taste, and genuine from the heart: True love strikes root in reason ; passion's foe : High-lavor'd bliss for gods! on Earth how rare ! Virtue alone entenders us for life:
On Earth how lost!-- Philander is no more. I wrong her much-entenders us for ever:
Think'st thou the theme intoxicates my song? Of Friendship's fairest fruits, the fruit most fair Am I too warm ? Too warm I cannot be. Is virtue kindling at a rival fire,
I lov'd him much ; but now I love him more. And, emulously, rapid in her race.
Like birds, whose beanties languish, half-conceald, O the soft enmity! endearing strife!
Till, mounted on the wing, their glossy plumes This carries friendship to her noontide point, Expanded shine with azure, green, and gold ; And gives the rivet of eternity.
How blessings brighten as they take their flight' From Friendship, which oritlives my former themes, His flight Philander took; his upward flight, Glorious survivor of old Time and Death ; If ever soul ascended. Hlad he dropt, From Friendship, thus, that Power of heavenly seed ; (That eagle genius!) O had he let fall
One feather as he flew: I, then, had wrote, With unreluctant grandeur, gives, not yields
How our hearts burnt within us at the scene! Yet what I can, I must; it were profane
Whence this brave bound o'er limits fixt to man? To quench a glory lighted at the skies,
His God sustains him in his final hour! And cast in shadows his illustrious close.
His final hour brings glory to his God! Strange! the theme most affecting, most sublime, Man’s glory Heaven vouchsafes to call her own Momentous most to man, should sleep unsung! We gaze, we weep; mixt tears of grief, of joy ! And yet it sleeps, by genius unawak’d,
Amazement strikes! devotion bursts to flame! Painim or Christian ; to the blush of wit. Christians adore! and Infidels believe! Man's highest triumph! man's profoundest fall! As some tall tower, or lofty mountain's brow The death-bed of the just! is yet undrawn Detains the Sun, illustrious, from its height; By mortal hand! it merits a divine:
While rising vapors, and descending shades, Angels should paint it, angels ever there :
With damps and darkness, drown the spacious vale; There, on a post of honor, and of joy.
Undampt by doubt, undarken'd by despair, Dare I presume, then? but Philander bids; Philander, thus, augustly rears his head, And glory tempts, and inclination calls— At that black hour, which general horror sheds Yet am I struck; as struck the soul, beneath On the low level of th' inglorious throng: A ërial groves' impenetrable gloom;
Sweet Peace, and heavenly Hope, and humble Joy, Or, in some mighty ruin's solemn shade ;
Divinely beam on his exalted soul; Or, gazing hy pale lamps on high-born dust, Destruction gild, and crown him for the skies, In vaults; thin courts of poor unflatter'd kings; With incommunicable lustre bright. Or, at the midnight altar's hallow'd flame. Is it religion to proceed ? I pauseAnd enter, aw'd, the temple of my theme. Is it his death-bed ? No: it is his shrine:
NIGUT THE THIRD.
TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF PORTLAND.
Ignoscenda quidem, scirent si ignoscere manes. Receive the blessing, and adore the chance,
Virg. That threw in this Bethesda your disease;
From dreams, where thought in fancy's maze runs If unrestor'd by this, despair your cure.
mad, For, here, resistless demonstration dwells;
To reason, that heaven-lighted lamp in man, A death-bed's a detector of the heart.
Once more I wake; and at the destin'd hour,
Punctual as lovers to the moment swom,
0! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought,
Then nearest these, when others most remole; To vice, confusion; and to virtue, peace.
And all, ere long, shall be remote, but these. Whatever farce the boastful hero plays,
How dreadful, then, to meet them all alone, Virtue alone has majesty in death!
A stranger! unacknowledg'd! unapprov'd! And greater still, the more the tyrant frowns. Now woo them; wed them; bind them to thy breast; Philander! he severely frown'd on thee.
To win thy wish, creation has no more. “No warning given! Unoeremonious Fate ! Or if we wish a fourth, it is a friendA sudden rush from life's meridian joy!
But friends, how mortal! dangerous the desire ! A wrench from all we love! from all we are ! Take Phæbus to yourselves, ye basking bards A restless bed of pain! a plunge opaque
Inebriate at fair Fortune's fountain-head; Beyond conjecture! feeble Nature's dread! And reeling through the wilderness of joy; Strong Reason's shudder at the dark unknown! Where Sense runs savage, broke from Reason's chain! A sun extinguisht! a just-opening grave!
And sings false peace, till smother'd by the pall. And oh! the last, last, —what? (can words express? My fortune is unlike; unlike my song; Thought reach it?) the last- silence of a friend !" Unlike the deity my song invokes. Where are those horrors, that amazement, where I to Day's soft-ey'd sister pay my court, "This hideous group of ills, which singly shock, (Endymion's rival!) and her aid implore; Demand from man ?--I thought him man till now. Now first implor'd in succor to the Muse. Through Nature's wreck, through vanquisht Thou, who didst lately borrow Cynthia's form,* agonies,
(gloom,) And modestly forego thine own! O thou,
Are there demurring wits, who dare dispute
* At the Duke of Norfolk's masquerade.
This revolution in the world inspir'd ?
And if in death still lovely, lovelier there, Ye train Pierian ! to the lunar sphere,
Far lovelier! pity swells the tide of love. In silent hour, address your ardent call
And will not the severe excuse sigh! For aid immortal; less her brother's right.
Scorn the proud man that is asham'd to weep; She, with the spheres harmonious, nightly leads Our tears indulg'd indeed deserve our shame. The mazy dance, and hears their matchless strain, Ye that e'er lost an angel! pity me. A strain for gods, denied to mortal ear.
Soon as the lustre languish'd in her eye, Transmit it heard, thou silver queen of Heaven! Dawning a dimmer day on human sight; What tiile, or what name, endears the most! And on her cheek, the residence of Spring, Cynthia! Cyllené! Phæbe! or dost hear
Pale omen sat; and scatter'd fears around With higher gust, fair Portland of the skies? On all that saw, (and who would cease to gaze, . Is that the soft enchantment calls thee down, That once had seen ?) with haste, parental haste, More powerful than of old Circean charm? I few, I snatch'd her from the rigid North, Coine ; but from heavenly banquets with thee bring Her native bed, on which bleak Boreas blew, The soul of song, and whisper in my ear
And bore her nearer to the Sun; the Sun The theft divine; or in propitious dreams
(As if the Sun could envy) check'd his beam, (For dreams are thine) transfuse it through the breast Denied his wonted succor; nor with more Of thy first votary.—But not thy last ;
Regret beheld her drooping, than the bells If, like thy namesake, Thou art ever kind.
Of lilies ; fairest lilies, not so fair! And kind thou wilt be; kind on such a theme; Queen lilies! and ye painted populace ! theme so like thee, a quite lunar theme,
Who dwell fields, and lead ambrosial lives! Sofi, modest, melancholy, female, fair!
In morn and evening dew, your beauties bathe, A theme that rose all-pale, and told my soul And drink the Sun; which gives your cheeks 10 "Twas night; on her fond hopes perpetual night;
Which often cropt your odors, incense meet
To thought so pure! Ye lovely fugitives ! They love a train, they tread each other's heel; Coëval race with man! for man you smile! Her death invades his mournful right, and claims Why not smile at him too? You share indeed The grief that started from my lids for him : His sudden pass; but not his constant pain. Seizes the faithless, alienated tear,
So man is made ; nought ministers delight, Or shares it, ere it falls. So frequent death, But what his glowing passions can engage; Sorrow he more than causes, he confounds; And glowing passions, bent on aught below, For human sighs his rival strokes contend,
Must, soon or late, with anguish turn the scale ; And make distress, distraction. Oh Philander! And anguish, after rapture, how severe ! What was thy fate ? A double fate to me; Rapture? Bold man! who tempt'st the wrath Portent, and pain! a menace, and a blow!
divine, Like the black raven hovering o'er my peace, By plucking fruit denied to mortal taste, Not less a bird of omen, than of prey.
While here, presuming on the rights of Heaven. It callid Narcissa long before her hour;
For transport dost thou call on every hour, It callid her tender soul, by break of bliss, Lorenzo ? At thy friend's expense, be wise; From the first blossom, from the buds of joy; Lean not on Earth ; 'twill pierce thee to the heart; Those few our noxious fate unblasted leaves A broken reed, at best; but oft, a spear; In this inclement clime of human life.
On its sharp point peace bleeds, and hope expires. Sweet harmonist! and beautiful as sweet!
Turn, hopeless thought! turn from her - Thought And young as beautiful! and soft as young!
repellid And gay as soft! and innocent as gay!
Resenting rallies, and wakes every woe. And happy (if aught happy here) as good! Snatch'd ere thy prime! and in thy bridal hour! For fortune fond had built her nest on high. And when kind fortune, with thy lover, smild! Like birds quite exquisite of note and plume, And when high-flavor'd thy fresh-opening joys ! Transfixt by fale (who loves a lofty mark.) And when blind man pronounc'd thy bliss complete! How froin the summit of the grove she fell, And on a foreign shore; where strangers wept! And left it unharmonious! all its charms
Strangers to thee; and more surprising still, Extinguisht in the wonders of her song!
Strangers to kindness, wept : their eyes let fall Her song still vibrates in my ravish'd ear,
Inhuman tears! strange tears! that trickled down Still melting there, and with voluptuous pain Fromn marble hearts! obdurate tenderness! (O to forget her!) ihrilling through my heart ! A tenderness that call'd them more severe;
Song, beauty, youth, love, virtue, joy; this group In spite of Nature's sofi persuasion, steeld! Of bright ideas, Aowers of Paradise,
While Nature melted, Superstition rav'd; As yet unforfeit! in one blaze we bind,
That mourn'd the dead; and this denied a grave. Kneel and present it to the skies; as all
Their sighs incens'd; sighs foreign to the will! We guess of Heaven: and these were all her own, Their will the tiger suck'd, outrag'd the storm. And she was mine; and I was—was!—most For, oh! the curst ungodliness of zeal' blest
While sinful flesh relented, spirit nuret
In blind Infallibility's embrace,
What could I do? What succor ? What resource ?
With pious sacrilege, a grave I stole ;
How was each circumstance with aspics arm'd ? With impious piety, that grave I wrong'd; An aspic, each! and all, an hydra woe : Short in my duty! coward in my grief!
What strong Herculean virtue could suffice ?More like her murderer, than friend, I crept, Or is it virtue to be conquer'd here? With soft-suspended step, and muffled deep This hoary cheek a train of tears bedews; In midnight darkness, whisper'd my last sigh. And each tear mourns its own distinct distress ; I whisper'd what should echo through their realms; And each distress, distinctly mourn'd, demands Nor writ her name, whose tomb should pierce the Of grief still more, as heighten'd by the whole. skies.
A grief like this proprietors excludes: Presumptuous fear! How durst I dread her foes, Not friends alone such obsequies deplore ; While Nature's loudest dictates I obey'd ? They make mankind the mourner; carry sighs Pardon necessity, blest shade! Of grief
Far as the fatal Fame can wing her way; And indignation rival bursts I pour'd;
And turn the gayest thought of gayest age, Half execration mingled with my prayer ;
Down their right channel, through the vale of death Kindled at man, while I his God ador'd;
The vale of death! that hush'd Cimmerian vaie, Sore grudg'd the savage land her sacred dust; Where darkness, brooding o'er unfinish'd fates, Stampt the curst soil; and with humanity
With raven wing incumbent, waits the day (Denied Narcissa) wish'd them all a grave. (Dread day!) that interdicts all future change!
Glows my resentment into guilt? What guilt That subterranean world! that land of ruin ! Can equal violations of the dead ?
Fit walk, Lorenzo, for proud human thought! The dead how sacred! Sacred is the dust There let my thought expatiate, and explore Of this Heaven-labor'd form, erect, divine!
Balsamic truths and healing sentiments, This Heaven-assum'd majestic robe of Earth, Of all most wanted, and most welcome, here. He deign' to wear, who hung the vast expanse For gay Lorenzo's sake, and for thy own, With azure bright, and cloth'd the Sun in gold. My soul! “The fruits of dying friends survey; When every passion sleeps that can offend ; Expose the vain of life; weigh life and death ; When strikes us every motive that can melt; Give death his eulogy ; thy fear subdue ; When man can wreak his rancor uncontroll'd, And labor that first palm of noble minds, That strongest curb on insult and ill-will;
A manly scorn of terror from the tomb." Then, spleen to dust! the dust of innocence!
This harvest reap from thy Narcissa's grave. An angel's dust!This Lucifer transcends; As poets feign'], from Ajax' streaming blood When he contended for the patriarch's bones, Arose, with grief inscrib’d, a mournful flower; 'Twas not the strife of malice, but of pride ; Let wisdom blossom from my mortal wound. The strise of pontiff pride, not pontiff gall.
And first, of dying friends; what fruit from these For less than this is shocking in a race
It brings us more than triple aid; an aid Most wretched, but from streams of mutual love; To ehase our thoughllessness, fear, pride, and guill. And uncreated, but for love divine,
Our dying friends come o'er us like a cloud, And, but for love divine, this moment lost,
To damp our brainless ardors; and abate By fate resorb'd, and sunk in endless night. That glare of life which often blinds the wise. Man hard of heart to man! of horrid things Our dying friends are pioneers, to smooth Most horrid ! 'Mid stupendous, highly strange! Our rugged pass to death ; to break those bars Yet oft his courtesies are smoother wrongs ; of terror and abhorrence Nature throws Pride brandishes the favors he confers,
Cross our obstructed way; and, thus to make And contumelious his humanity;
Welcome, as safe, our port from every storm. What then his vengeance? Hear it not, ye stars! Each friend by fate snatch'd from us, is a plume And thou, pale Moon! turn paler at the sound; Pluck'd from the wing of human vanity, Man is to man the sorest, surest ill.
Which makes us stoop from our aërial heights, A previous blast foretells the rising storm; And, dampt with omen of our own decease, O’erwhelming turrets threaten ere they fall; On drooping pinions of ambition lower'd, Volcanoes bellow ere they disembogue ;
Just skim Earth's surface, ere we break it up, Earth trembles ere her yawning jaws devour; O'er putrid earth to scratch a little dust, And smoke betrays the wide-consuming fire: And save the world a nuisance. Smitten friends Ruin from man is most conceal'd when near, Are angels sent on errands full of love; And sends the dreadful tidings in the blow. For us they languish, and for us they die : Is this the flight of fancy? Would it were ! And shall they languish, shall they die, in vain ? Heaven's Sovereign saves all beings, but himself, Ungrateful, shall we grieve their hovering shades, That hideous sight, a naked human heart.
Which wait the revolution in our hearts? Fir'd is the Muse? And let the Muse be fir'd : Shall we disdain their silent, soft address; Who not inflam'd, when whet he speaks, he feels, Their posthumous advice, and pious prayer ? And in the nerve most tender, in his friends ? Senseless, as herds that graze their hallow'd graves Shame to mankind! Philander had his foes : Tread under foot their agonies and groans ; He felt the truths I sing, and I in him.
Frustrate their anguish, and destroy their deaths ? But he, nor I, feel more ; past ills, Narcissa!
Lorenzo! no; the thought of death indulge ; Are sunk in thee, thou recent wound of heart! Give it its wholesome empire! let it reign, Which bleeds with other cares, with other pangs; That kind chastiser of thy soul in joy! Pangs numerous, as the numerous ills that swarmd Its reign will spread thy glorious conquests far, O'er thy distinguislı'd fate, and, clustering there And still the tumults of thy ruffled breast : Thick as the locusts on the land of Nile,
Auspicious era! golden days, begin! Made death more deadly, and more dark the grave. The thought of death shall, like a god, inspire. Reflect (if not forgot my touching tale)
And why not think on death? Is life the theme