In Two Parts. My Soul Shall Be Satisfied Even As It Were With Marrow And Fatness, When My Mouth Praiseth Thee With Joyful Lips. Psalm Lxiii. 6. Advertisement. This Was Not Intended For The Public; There Were Many And Strong Reasons Against It, And Are So Still; But Some Extracts Of It, From The Few Copies Which Were Given Away, Being Got Into The Printed Papers, It Was Thought Necessary To Publish Something, Lest A Copy Still More Imperfect Than This Should Fall Into The Press: And It Is Hoped, That This Unwelcome Occasion Of Publication May Be Some Excuse For It. As For The Following Stanzas, God Almighty'S Infinite Power, And Marvellous Goodness To Man, Is Dwelt On, As The Most Just And Cogent Reason For Our Cheerful And Absolute Resignation To His Will; Nor Are Any Of Those Topics Declined, Which Have A Just Tendency To Promote That Supreme Virtue: Such As The Vanity Of This Life, The Value Of The Next, The Approach Of Death, &C. Part I. The Days How Few, How Short The Years Of Man'S Too Rapid Race! Each Leaving, As It Swiftly Flies, A Shorter In Its Place. They Who The Longest Lease Enjoy, Have Told Us With A Sigh, That To Be Born Seems Little More Than To Begin To Die. Numbers There Are Who Feel This Truth With Fears Alarm'D; And Yet, In Life'S Delusions Lull'D Asleep, This Weighty Truth Forget: And Am Not I To These Akin? Age Slumbers O'Er The Quill; Its Honour Blots, Whate'Er It Writes, And Am I Writing Still? Conscious Of Nature In Decline, And Languor In My Thoughts; To Soften Censure, And Abate Its Rigour On My Faults Permit Me, Madam! Ere To You The Promis'D Verse I Pay, To Touch On Felt Infirmity, Sad Sister Of Decay. One World Deceas'D, Another Born, Like Noah They Behold, O'Er Whose White Hairs, And Furrow'D Brows, Too Many Suns Have Roll'D: Happy The Patriarch! He Rejoic'D His Second World To See: My Second World, Though Gay The Scene, Can Boast No Charms For Me. To Me This Brilliant Age Appears With Desolation Spread; Near All With Whom I Liv'D, And Smil'D, Whilst Life Was Life, Are Dead; And With Them Died My Joys; The Grave Has Broken Nature'S Laws; And Clos'D, Against This Feeble Frame, Its Partial Cruel Jaws; Cruel To Spare! Condemn'D To Life! A Cloud Impairs My Sight; My Weak Hand Disobeys My Will, And Trembles As I Write. What Shall I Write? Thalia, Tell; Say, Long Abandon'D Muse! What Field Of Fancy Shall I Range? What Subject Shall I Choose? A Choice Of Moment High Inspire, And Rescue Me From Shame, For Doting On Thy Charms So Late, By Grandeur In My Theme. Beyond The Themes, Which Most Admire, Which Dazzle, Or Amaze, Beyond Renown'D Exploits Of War, Bright Charms, Or Empire'S Blaze, Are Themes, Which, In A World Of Woe Can Best Appease Our Pain; And, In An Age Of Gaudy Guilt, Gay Folly'S Flood Restrain; Amidst The Storms Of Life Support A Calm, Unshaken Mind; And With Unfading Laurels Crown The Brow Of The Resign'D. O Resignation! Yet Unsung, Untouch'D By Former Strains; Though Claiming Every Muse'S Smile, And Every Poet'S Pains, Beneath Life'S Evening, Solemn Shade, I Dedicate My Page To Thee, Thou Safest Guard Of Youth! Thou Sole Support Of Age! All Other Duties Crescents Are Of Virtue Faintly Bright, The Glorious Consummation, Thou! Which Fills Her Orb With Light: How Rarely Fill'D! The Love Divine In Evils To Discern, This The First Lesson Which We Want, The Latest, Which We Learn; A Melancholy Truth! For Know, Could Our Proud Hearts Resign, The Distance Greatly Would Decrease 'Twixt Human And Divine. But Though Full Noble Is My Theme, Full Urgent Is My Call To Soften Sorrow, And Forbid The Bursting Tear To Fall: The Task I Dread; Dare I To Leave Of Humble Prose The Shore, And Put To Sea? A Dangerous Sea? What Throngs Have Sunk Before! How Proud The Poet'S Billow Swells! The God! The God! His Boast: A Boast How Vain! What Wrecks Abound! Dead Bards Stench Every Coast. What Then Am I? Shall I Presume, On Such A Moulten Wing, Above The General Wreck To Rise, And In My Winter, Sing; When Nightingales, When Sweetest Bards Confine Their Charming Song To Summer'S Animating Heats, Content To Warble Young? Yet Write I Must; A Lady(49) Sues; How Shameful Her Request! My Brain In Labour For Dull Rhyme! Hers Teeming With The Best! But You A Stranger Will Excuse, Nor Scorn His Feeble Strain; To You A Stranger, But, Through Fate, No Stranger To Your Pain. The Ghost Of Grief Deceas'D Ascends, His Old Wound Bleeds Anew; His Sorrows Are Recall'D To Life By Those He Sees In You; Too Well He Knows The Twisting Strings Of Ardent Hearts Combin'D When Rent Asunder, How They Bleed, How Hard To Be Resign'D: Those Tears You Pour, His Eyes Have Shed; The Pang You Feel, He Felt; Thus Nature, Loud As Virtue, Bids His Heart At Yours To Melt. But What Can Heart, Or Head, Suggest? What Sad Experience Say? Through Truths Austere, To Peace We Work Our Rugged, Gloomy Way: What Are We? Whence? For What? And Whither? Who Know Not, Needs Must Mourn; But Thought, Bright Daughter Of The Skies! Can Tears To Triumph Turn. Thought Is Our Armour, 'Tis The Mind'S Impenetrable Shield, When, Sent By Fate, We Meet Our Foes, In Sore Affliction'S Field; It Plucks The Frightful Mask From Ills, Forbids Pale Fear To Hide, Beneath That Dark Disguise, A Friend, Which Turns Affection'S Tide. Affection Frail! Train'D Up By Sense, From Reason'S Channel Strays: And Whilst It Blindly Points At Peace, Our Peace To Pain Betrays. Thought Winds Its Fond, Erroneous Stream From Daily Dying Flowers, To Nourish Rich Immortal Blooms, In Amaranthine Bowers; Whence Throngs, In Ecstasy, Look Down On What Once Shock'D Their Sight; And Thank The Terrors Of The Past For Ages Of Delight. All Withers Here; Who Most Possess Are Losers By Their Gain, Stung By Full Proof, That, Bad At Best, Life'S Idle All Is Vain: Vain, In Its Course, Life'S Murmuring Stream; Did Not Its Course Offend, But Murmur Cease; Life, Then, Would Seem Still Vainer, From Its End. How Wretched! Who, Through Cruel Fate, Have Nothing To Lament! With The Poor Alms This World Affords Deplorably Content! Had Not The Greek His World Mistook, His Wish Had Been Most Wise; To Be Content With But One World, Like Him, We Should Despise. Of Earth'S Revenue Would You State A Full Account And Fair? We Hope; And Hope; And Hope; Then Cast The Total Up------ Despair. Since Vain All Here, All Future, Vast, Embrace The Lot Assign'D; Heaven Wounds To Heal; Its Frowns Are Friends; Its Stroke Severe, Most Kind. But In Laps'D Nature Rooted Deep, Blind Error Domineers; And On Fools' Errands, In The Dark, Sends Out Our Hopes And Fears; Bids Us For Ever Pains Deplore, Our Pleasures Overprize; These Oft Persuade Us To Be Weak; Those Urge Us To Be Wise. From Virtue'S Rugged Path To Right By Pleasure Are We Brought, To Flowery Fields Of Wrong, And There Pain Chides Us For Our Fault: Yet Whilst It Chides, It Speaks Of Peace If Folly Is Withstood; And Says, Time Pays An Easy Price, For Our Eternal Good. In Earth'S Dark Cot, And In An Hour, And In Delusion Great, What An Economist Is Man To Spend His Whole Estate, And Beggar An Eternity! For Which As He Was Born, More Worlds Than One Against It Weigh'D, As Feathers He Should Scorn. Say Not, Your Loss In Triumph Leads Religion'S Feeble Strife; Joys Future Amply Reimburse Joys Bankrupts Of This Life. But Not Deferr'D Your Joy So Long, It Bears An Early Date; Affliction'S Ready Pay In Hand, Befriends Our Present State; What Are The Tears, Which Trickle Down Her Melancholy Face, Like Liquid Pearl? Like Pearls Of Price, They Purchase Lasting Peace. Grief Softens Hearts, And Curbs The Will, Impetuous Passion Tames, And Keeps Insatiate, Keen Desire From Launching In Extremes. Through Time'S Dark Womb, Our Judgment Right, If Our Dim Eye Was Thrown, Clear Should We See, The Will Divine Has But Forestall'D Our Own; At Variance With Our Future Wish, Self-Sever'D We Complain; If So, The Wounded, Not The Wound, Must Answer For The Pain: The Day Shall Come, And Swift Of Wing, Though You May Think It Slow, When, In The List Of Fortune'S Smiles, You'll Enter Frowns Of Woe. For Mark The Path Of Providence; This Course It Has Pursued-- "Pain Is The Parent, Woe The Womb, Of Sound, Important Good:" Our Hearts Are Fasten'D To This World By Strong And Endless Ties: And Every Sorrow Cuts A String, And Urges Us To Rise: 'Twill Sound Severe--Yet Rest Assur'D I'M Studious Of Your Peace; Though I Should Dare To Give You Joy-- Yes, Joy Of His Decease: An Hour Shall Come, (You Question This,) An Hour, When You Shall Bless, Beyond The Brightest Beams Of Life, Dark Days Of Your Distress. Hear Then Without Surprise A Truth, A Daughter Truth To This, Swift Turns Of Fortune Often Tie A Bleeding Heart To Bliss: Esteem You This A Paradox? My Sacred Motto Read; A Glorious Truth! Divinely Sung By One, Whose Heart Had Bled; To Resignation Swift He Flew, In Her A Friend He Found, A Friend, Which Bless'D Him With A Smile When Gasping With His Wound. On Earth Nought Precious Is Obtain'D But What Is Painful Too; By Travel, And To Travel Born, Our Sabbaths Are But Few: To Real Joy We Work Our Way, Encountering Many A Shock, Ere Found What Truly Charms; As Found A Venus In The Block. In Some Disaster, Some Severe Appointment For Our Sins, That Mother Blessing, (Not So Call'D,) True Happiness, Begins. No Martyr E'Er Defied The Flames, By Stings Of Life Unvext; First Rose Some Quarrel With This World, Then Passion For The Next. You See, Then, Pangs Are Parent Pangs, The Pangs Of Happy Birth; Pangs, By Which Only Can Be Born True Happiness On Earth. The Peopled Earth Look All Around, Or Through Time'S Records Run! And Say, What Is A Man Unstruck? It Is A Man Undone. This Moment, Am I Deeply Stung-- My Bold Pretence Is Tried; When Vain Man Boasts, Heaven Puts To Proof The Vauntings Of His Pride; Now Need I, Madam! Your Support.-- How Exquisite The Smart; How Critically Tim'D The News(50) Which Strikes Me To The Heart! The Pangs Of Which I Spoke, I Feel: If Worth Like Thine Is Born, O Long-Belov'D! I Bless The Blow, And Triumph, Whilst I Mourn. Nor Mourn I Long; By Grief Subdued, By Reason'S Empire Shown; Deep Anguish Comes By Heaven'S Decree, Continues By Our Own; And When Continued Past Its Point, Indulg'D In Length Of Time, Grief Is Disgrac'D, And, What Was Fate, Corrupts Into A Crime: And Shall I, Criminally Mean, Myself And Subject Wrong? No; My Example Shall Support The Subject Of My Song. Madam! I Grant Your Loss Is Great; Nor Little Is Your Gain? Let That Be Weigh'D; When Weigh'D Aright, It Richly Pays Your Pain: When Heaven Would Kindly Set Us Free, And Earth'S Enchantment End; It Takes The Most Effectual Means, And Robs Us Of A Friend. But Such A Friend! And Sigh No More? 'Tis Prudent; But Severe: Heaven Aid My Weakness, And I Drop All Sorrow--With This Tear. Perhaps Your Settled Grief To Soothe, I Should Not Vainly Strive, But With Soft Balm Your Pain Assuage, Had He Been Still Alive; Whose Frequent Aid Brought Kind Relief, In My Distress Of Thought, Ting'D With His Beams My Cloudy Page, And Beautified A Fault: To Touch Our Passions' Secret Springs Was His Peculiar Care; And Deep His Happy Genius Div'D In Bosoms Of The Fair; Nature, Which Favours To The Few, All Art Beyond, Imparts, To Him Presented, At His Birth, The Key Of Human Hearts. But Not To Me By Him Bequeath'D His Gentle, Smooth Address; His Tender Hand To Touch The Wound In Throbbing Of Distress; Howe'Er, Proceed I Must, Unbless'D With Esculapian Art: Know, Love Sometimes, Mistaken Love! Plays Disaffection'S Part: Nor Lands, Nor Seas, Nor Suns, Nor Stars, Can Soul From Soul Divide; They Correspond From Distant Worlds, Though Transports Are Denied: Are You Not, Then, Unkindly Kind? Is Not Your Love Severe? O! Stop That Crystal Source Of Woe; Nor Wound Him With A Tear. As Those Above From Human Bliss Receive Increase Of Joy; May Not A Stroke From Human Woe, In Part, Their Peace Destroy? He Lives In Those He Left;--To What? Your, Now, Paternal Care, Clear From Its Cloud Your Brighten'D Eye, It Will Discern Him There; In Features, Not Of Form Alone, But Those, I Trust, Of Mind; Auspicious To The Public Weal, And To Their Fate Resign'D. Think On The Tempests He Sustain'D; Revolve His Battles Won; And Let Those Prophesy Your Joy From Such A Father'S Son: Is Consolation What You Seek? Fan, Then, His Martial Fire: And Animate To Flame The Sparks Bequeath'D Him By His Sire: As Nothing Great Is Born In Haste, Wise Nature'S Time Allow; His Father'S Laurels May Descend, And Flourish On His Brow. Nor, Madam! Be Surpris'D To Hear That Laurels May Be Due Not More To Heroes Of The Field, (Proud Boasters!) Than To You: Tender As Is The Female Frame, Like That Brave Man You Mourn, You Are A Soldier, And To Fight Superior Battles Born; Beneath A Banner Nobler Far Than Ever Was Unfurl'D In Fields Of Blood; A Banner Bright! High Wav'D O'Er All The World. It, Like A Streaming Meteor, Casts A Universal Light; Sheds Day, Sheds More, Eternal Day On Nations Whelm'D In Night. Beneath That Banner, What Exploit Can Mount Our Glory Higher, Than To Sustain The Dreadful Blow, When Those We Love Expire? Go Forth A Moral Amazon; Arm'D With Undaunted Thought; The Battle Won, Though Costing Dear, You'll Think It Cheaply Bought: The Passive Hero, Who Sits Down Unactive, And Can Smile Beneath Affliction'S Galling Load, Out-Acts A C?Sar'S Toil: The Billows Stain'D By Slaughter'D Foes Inferior Praise Afford; Reason'S A Bloodless Conqueror, More Glorious Than The Sword. Nor Can The Thunders Of Huzzas, From Shouting Nations, Cause Such Sweet Delight, As From Your Heart Soft Whispers Of Applause: The Dear Deceas'D So Fam'D In Arms, With What Delight He'll View His Triumphs On The Main Outdone, Thus Conquer'D, Twice, By You. Share His Delight; Take Heed To Shun Of Bosoms Most Diseas'D That Odd Distemper, An Absurd Reluctance To Be Pleas'D: Some Seem In Love With Sorrow'S Charms, And That Foul Fiend Embrace: This Temper Let Me Justly Brand, And Stamp It With Disgrace: Sorrow! Of Horrid Parentage! Thou Second-Born Of Hell! Against Heaven'S Endless Mercies Pour'D How Dar'St Thou To Rebel? From Black And Noxious Vapours Bred, And Nurs'D By Want Of Thought, And To The Door Of Phrensy'S Self By Perseverance Brought, Thy Most Inglorious, Coward Tears From Brutal Eyes Have Ran: Smiles, Incommunicable Smiles! Are Radiant Marks Of Man; They Cast A Sudden Glory Round Th' Illumin'D Human Face; And Light In Sons Of Honest Joy Some Beams Of Moses' Face: Is Resignation'S Lesson Hard? Examine, We Shall Find That Duty Gives Up Little More Than Anguish Of The Mind; Resign; And All The Load Of Life That Moment You Remove, Its Heavy Tax, Ten Thousand Cares Devolve On One Above; Who Bids Us Lay Our Burthen Down On His Almighty Hand, Softens Our Duty To Relief, To Blessing A Command. For Joy What Cause! How Every Sense Is Courted From Above The Year Around, With Presents Rich, The Growth Of Endless Love! But Most O'Erlook The Blessings Pour'D, Forget The Wonders Done, And Terminate, Wrapp'D Up In Sense, Their Prospect At The Sun; From That, Their Final Point Of View, From That Their Radiant Goal, On Travel Infinite Of Thought, Sets Out The Nobler Soul, Broke Loose From Time'S Tenacious Ties, And Earth'S Involving Gloom, To Range At Last Its Vast Domain, And Talk With Worlds To Come: They Let Unmark'D, And Unemploy'D, Life'S Idle Moments Run; And Doing Nothing For Themselves, Imagine Nothing Done; Fatal Mistake! Their Fate Goes On, Their Dread Account Proceeds, And Their Not Doing Is Set Down Amongst Their Darkest Deeds; Though Man Sits Still, And Takes His Ease; God Is At Work On Man; No Means, No Moment Unemployed, To Bless Him, If He Can. But Man Consents Not, Boldly Bent To Fashion His Own Fate; Man, A Mere Bungler In The Trade, Repents His Crime Too Late; Hence Loud Laments: Let Me Thy Cause, Indulgent Father! Plead; Of All The Wretches We Deplore, Not One By Thee Was Made. What Is Thy Whole Creation Fair? Of Love Divine The Child; Love Brought It Forth; And, From Its Birth, Has O'Er It Fondly Smil'D: Now, And Through Periods Distant Far, Long Ere The World Began, Heaven Is, And Has In Travail Been, Its Birth The Good Of Man; Man Holds In Constant Service Bound The Blustering Winds And Seas; Nor Suns Disdain To Travel Hard Their Master, Man, To Please: To Final Good The Worst Events Through Secret Channels Run; Finish For Man Their Destin'D Course, As 'Twas For Man Begun. One Point (Observ'D, Perhaps, By Few) Has Often Smote, And Smites My Mind, As Demonstration Strong; That Heaven In Man Delights: What'S Known To Man Of Things Unseen, Of Future Worlds, Or Fates? So Much, Nor More, Than What To Man'S Sublime Affairs Relates; What'S Revelation Then? A List, An Inventory Just Of That Poor Insect'S Goods, So Late Call'D Out Of Night And Dust. What Various Motives To Rejoice! To Render Joy Sincere, Has This No Weight? Our Joy Is Felt Beyond This Narrow Sphere: Would We In Heaven New Heaven Create, And Double Its Delight? A Smiling World, When Heaven Looks Down, How Pleasing In Its Sight! Angels Stoop Forward From Their Thrones To Hear Its Joyful Lays; As Incense Sweet Enjoy, And Join, Its Aromatic Praise: Have We No Cause To Fear The Stroke Of Heaven'S Avenging Rod, When We Presume To Counteract A Sympathetic God? If We Resign, Our Patience Makes His Rod An Armless Wand; If Not, It Darts A Serpent'S Sting, Like That In Moses' Hand; Like That, It Swallows Up Whate'Er Earth'S Vain Magicians Bring, Whose Baffled Arts Would Boast Below Of Joys A Rival Spring. Consummate Love! The List How Large Of Blessings From Thy Hand! To Banish Sorrow, And Be Blest, Is Thy Supreme Command. Are Such Commands But Ill Obey'D? Of Bliss, Shall We Complain? The Man, Who Dares To Be A Wretch, Deserves Still Greater Pain. Joy Is Our Duty, Glory, Health; The Sunshine Of The Soul; Our Best Encomium On The Power Who Sweetly Plans The Whole: Joy Is Our Eden Still Possess'D: Begone, Ignoble Grief! 'Tis Joy Makes Gods, And Men Exalts, Their Nature, Our Relief; Relief, For Man To That Must Stoop, And His Due Distance Know; Transport'S The Language Of The Sides, Content The Style Below. Content Is Joy, And Joy In Pain Is Joy And Virtue Too; Thus, Whilst Good Present We Possess, More Precious We Pursue: Of Joy The More We Have In Hand, The More Have We To Come; Joy, Like Our Money, Interest Bears, Which Daily Swells The Sum. "But How To Smile; To Stem The Tide Of Nature In Our Veins; Is It Not Hard To Weep In Joy? What Then To Smile In Pains?" Victorious Joy! Which Breaks The Clouds, And Struggles Through A Storm; Proclaims The Mind As Great, As Good And Bids It Doubly Charm: If Doubly Charming In Our Sex, A Sex, By Nature, Bold; What Then In Yours? 'Tis Diamond There Triumphant O'Er Our Gold. And Should Not This Complaint Repress, And Check The Rising Sigh? Yet Farther Opiate To Your Pain I Labour To Supply. Since Spirits Greatly Damp'D Distort Ideas Of Delight, Look Through The Medium Of A Friend, To Set Your Notions Right: As Tears The Sight, Grief Dims The Soul; Its Object Dark Appears; True Friendship, Like A Rising Sun, The Soul'S Horizon Clears. A Friend'S An Optic To The Mind With Sorrow Clouded O'Er; And Gives It Strength Of Sight To See Redress Unseen Before. Reason Is Somewhat Rough In Man; Extremely Smooth And Fair, When She, To Grace Her Manly Strength, Assumes A Female Air: A Friend(51) You Have, And I The Same, Whose Prudent, Soft Address Will Bring To Life Those Healing Thoughts Which Died In Your Distress; That Friend, The Spirit Of My Theme Extracting For Your Ease, Will Leave To Me The Dreg, In Thoughts Too Common; Such As These: Let Those Lament To Whom Full Bowls Of Sparkling Joys Are Given; That Triple Bane Inebriates Life, Imbitters Death, And Hazards Heaven: Woe To The Soul At Perfect Ease! 'Tis Brewing Perfect Pains; Lull'D Reason Sleeps, The Pulse Is King; Despotic Body Reigns; Have You(52) Ne'Er Pitied Joy'S Gay Scenes, And Deem'D Their Glory Dark? Alas! Poor Envy! She'S Stone-Blind, And Quite Mistakes Her Mark: Her Mark Lies Hid In Sorrow'S Shades, But Sorrow Well Subdu'D; And In Proud Fortune'S Frown Defied By Meek, Unborrow'D Good. By Resignation; All In That A Double Friend May Find, A Wing To Heaven, And, While On Earth, The Pillow Of Mankind: On Pillows Void Of Down, For Rest Our Restless Hopes We Place; When Hopes Of Heaven Lie Warm At Heart, Our Hearts Repose In Peace: The Peace, Which Resignation Yields, Who Feel Alone Can Guess; 'Tis Disbeliev'D By Murmuring Minds, They Must Conclude It Less: The Loss, Or Gain, Of That Alone Have We To Hope Or Fear; That Fate Controls, And Can Invert The Seasons Of The Year: O! The Dark Days, The Year Around, Of An Impatient Mind! Thro' Clouds, And Storms, A Summer Breaks, To Shine On The Resign'D: While Man By That Of Every Grace, And Virtue, Is Possess'D; Foul Vice Her Pand?Monium Builds In The Rebellious Breast; By Resignation We Defeat The Worst That Can Annoy; And Suffer, With Far More Repose, Than Worldlings Can Enjoy. From Small Experience This I Speak; O! Grant To Those I Love Experience Fuller Far, Ye Powers, Who Form Our Fates Above! My Love Were Due, If Not To Those Who, Leaving Grandeur, Came To Shine On Age In Mean Recess, And Light Me To My Theme! A Theme Themselves! A Theme, How Rare! The Charms, Which They Display, To Triumph Over Captive Heads, Are Set In Bright Array: With His Own Arms Proud Man'S O'Ercome, His Boasted Laurels Die: Learning And Genius, Wiser Grown, To Female Bosoms Fly. This Revolution, Fix'D By Fate, In Fable Was Foretold; The Dark Prediction Puzzled Wits, Nor Could The Learn'D Unfold: But As Those Ladies'(53) Works I Read, They Darted Such A Ray, The Latent Sense Burst Out At Once, And Shone In Open Day: So Burst, Full Ripe, Distended Fruits, When Strongly Strikes The Sun; And From The Purple Grape Unpress'D Spontaneous Nectars Run. Pallas, ('Tis Said,) When Jove Grew Dull, Forsook His Drowsy Brain; And Sprightly Leap'D Into The Throne Of Wisdom'S Brighter Reign; Her Helmet Took; That Is, Shot Rays Of Formidable Wit; And Lance,--Or, Genius Most Acute, Which Lines Immortal Writ; And Gorgon Shield,--Or, Power To Fright Man'S Folly, Dreadful Shone, And Many A Blockhead (Easy Change!) Turn'D, Instantly, To Stone. Our Authors Male, As, Then, Did Jove, Now Scratch A Damag'D Head, And Call For What Once Quarter'D There, But Find The Goddess Fled. The Fruit Of Knowledge, Golden Fruit! That Once Forbidden Tree, Hedg'D-In By Surly Man, Is Now To Britain'S Daughters Free: In Eve (We Know) Of Fruit So Fair The Noble Thirst Began; And They, Like Her, Have Caus'D A Fall, A Fall Of Fame In Man: And Since Of Genius In Our Sex, O Addison! With Thee The Sun Is Set; How I Rejoice This Sister Lamp To See! It Sheds, Like Cynthia, Silver Beams On Man'S Nocturnal State; His Lessen'D Light, And Languid Powers, I Show, Whilst I Relate. Part Ii. But What In Either Sex, Beyond All Parts, Our Glory Crowns? "In Ruffling Seasons To Be Calm, And Smile, When Fortune Frowns." Heaven'S Choice Is Safer Than Our Own; Of Ages Past Inquire, What The Most Formidable Fate? "To Have Our Own Desire." If, In Your Wrath, The Worst Of Foes You Wish Extremely Ill; Expose Him To The Thunder'S Stroke, Or That Of His Own Will. What Numbers, Rushing Down The Steep Of Inclination Strong, Have Perish'D In Their Ardent Wish! Wish Ardent, Ever Wrong! 'Tis Resignation'S Full Reverse, Most Wrong, As It Implies Error Most Fatal In Our Choice, Detachment From The Skies. By Closing With The Skies, We Make Omnipotence Our Own; That Done, How Formidable Ill'S Whole Army Is O'Erthrown! No Longer Impotent, And Frail, Ourselves Above We Rise: We Scarce Believe Ourselves Below! We Trespass On The Skies! The Lord, The Soul, And Source Of All, Whilst Man Enjoys His Ease, Is Executing Human Will, In Earth, And Air, And Seas; Beyond Us, What Can Angels Boast? Archangels What Require? Whate'Er Below, Above, Is Done, Is Done As----We Desire. What Glory This For Man So Mean, Whose Life Is But A Span! This Is Meridian Majesty! This, The Sublime Of Man! Beyond The Boast Of Pagan Song My Sacred Subject Shines! And For A Foil The Lustre Takes Of Rome'S Exalted Lines. "All, That The Sun Surveys, Subdued, But Cato'S Mighty Mind." How Grand! Most True; Yet Far Beneath The Soul Of The Resign'D: To More Than Kingdoms, More Than Worlds, To Passion That Gives Law; Its Matchless Empire Could Have Kept Great Cato'S Pride In Awe; That Fatal Pride, Whose Cruel Point Transfix'D His Noble Breast; Far Nobler! If His Fate Sustain'D And Left To Heaven The Rest; Then He The Palm Had Borne Away, At Distance C?Sar Thrown; Put Him Off Cheaply With The World, And Made The Skies His Own. What Cannot Resignation Do? It Wonders Can Perform; That Powerful Charm, "Thy Will Be Done," Can Lay The Loudest Storm. Come, Resignation! Then, From Fields, Where, Mounted On The Wing, A Wing Of Flame, Blest Martyrs' Souls Ascended To Their King. Who Is It Calls Thee? One Whose Need Transcends The Common Size; Who Stands In Front Against A Foe To Which No Equal Rise: In Front He Stands, The Brink He Treads Of An Eternal State; How Dreadful His Appointed Post! How Strongly Arm'D By Fate: His Threatening Foe! What Shadows Deep O'Erwhelm His Gloomy Brow! His Dart Tremendous!----At Fourscore My Sole Asylum, Thou! Haste, Then, O Resignation! Haste, 'Tis Thine To Reconcile My Foe, And Me; At Thy Approach My Foe Begins To Smile: O! For That Summit Of My Wish, Whilst Here I Draw My Breath, That Promise Of Eternal Life, A Glorious Smile In Death: What Sight, Heaven'S Azure Arch Beneath, Has Most Of Heaven To Boast? The Man Resign'D; At Once Serene, And Giving Up The Ghost. At Death'S Arrival They Shall Smile, Who, Not In Life O'Er Gay, Serious And Frequent Thought Send Out To Meet Him On His Way: My Gay Coevals! (Such There Are) If Happiness Is Dear; Approaching Death'S Alarming Day Discreetly Let Us Fear: The Fear Of Death Is Truly Wise, Till Wisdom Can Rise Higher; And, Arm'D With Pious Fortitude, Death Dreaded Once, Desire: Grand Climacteric Vanities The Vainest Will Despise; Shock'D, When Beneath The Snow Of Age Man Immaturely Dies: But Am Not I Myself The Man? No Need Abroad To Roam In Quest Of Faults To Be Chastis'D; What Cause To Blush At Home? In Life'S Decline, When Men Relapse Into The Sports Of Youth, The Second Child Out-Fools The First, And Tempts The Lash Of Truth; Shall A Mere Truant From The Grave With Rival Boys Engage? His Trembling Voice Attempt To Sing, And Ape The Poet'S Rage? Here, Madam! Let Me Visit One, My Fault Who, Partly, Shares, And Tell Myself, By Telling Him, What More Becomes Our Years; And If Your Breast With Prudent Zeal For Resignation Glows, You Will Not Disapprove A Just Resentment At Its Foes. In Youth, Voltaire! Our Foibles Plead For Some Indulgence Due; When Heads Are White, Their Thoughts And Aims Should Change Their Colour Too: How Are You Cheated By Your Wit! Old Age Is Bound To Pay, By Nature'S Law, A Mind Discreet, For Joys It Takes Away; A Mighty Change Is Wrought By Years, Reversing Human Lot; In Age 'Tis Honour To Lie Hid, 'Tis Praise To Be Forgot; The Wise, As Flowers, Which Spread At Noon, And All Their Charms Expose, When Evening Damps And Shades Descend, Their Evolutions Close. What Though Your Muse Has Nobly Soar'D, Is That Our Truth Sublime? Ours, Hoary Friend! Is To Prefer Eternity To Time: Why Close A Life So Justly Fam'D With Such Bold Trash As This?(54) This For Renown? Yes, Such As Makes Obscurity A Bliss: Your Trash, With Mine, At Open War, Is Obstinately Bent,(55) Like Wits Below, To Sow Your Tares Of Gloom And Discontent: With So Much Sunshine At Command, Why Light With Darkness Mix? Why Dash With Pain Our Pleasure? Your Helicon With Styx? Your Works In Our Divided Minds Repugnant Passions Raise, Confound Us With A Double Stroke, We Shudder Whilst We Praise; A Curious Web, As Finely Wrought As Genius Can Inspire, From A Black Bag Of Poison Spun, With Horror We Admire. Mean As It Is, If This Is Read With A Disdainful Air, I Can'T Forgive So Great A Foe To My Dear Friend Voltaire: Early I Knew Him, Early Prais'D, And Long To Praise Him Late; His Genius Greatly I Admire, Nor Would Deplore His Fate; A Fate How Much To Be Deplor'D! At Which Our Nature Starts; Forbear To Fall On Your Own Sword. To Perish By Your Parts: "But Great Your Name"--To Feed On Air, Were Then Immortals Born? Nothing Is Great, Of Which More Great, More Glorious Is The Scorn. Can Fame Your Carcass From The Worm Which Gnaws Us In The Grave, Or Soul From That Which Never Dies, Applauding Europe Save? But Fame You Lose; Good Sense Alone Your Idol, Praise, Can Claim; When Wild Wit Murders Happiness, It Puts To Death Our Fame! Nor Boast Your Genius, Talents Bright; E'En Dunces Will Despise, If In Your Western Beams Is Miss'D A Genius For The Skies; Your Taste Too Fails; What Most Excels True Taste Must Relish Most! And What, To Rival Palms Above, Can Proudest Laurels Boast? Sound Heads Salvation'S Helmet Seek,(56) Resplendent Are Its Rays, Let That Suffice; It Needs No Plume, Of Sublunary Praise. May This Enable Couch'D Voltaire To See That--"All Is Right,"(57) His Eye, By Flash Of Wit Struck Blind, Restoring To Its Sight; If So, All'S Well: Who Much Have Err'D, That Much Have Been Forgiven; I Speak With Joy, With Joy He'll Hear, "Voltaires Are, Now, In Heaven." Nay, Such Philanthropy Divine, So Boundless In Degree, Its Marvellous Of Love Extends (Stoops Most Profound!) To Me: Let Others Cruel Stars Arraign, Or Dwell On Their Distress; But Let My Page, For Mercies Pour'D, A Grateful Heart Express: Walking, The Present God Was Seen, Of Old, In Eden Fair; The God As Present, By Plain Steps Of Providential Care, I Behold Passing Through My Life; His Awful Voice I Hear; And, Conscious Of My Nakedness, Would Hide Myself For Fear: But Where The Trees, Or Where The Clouds, Can Cover From His Sight? Naked The Centre To That Eye, To Which The Sun Is Night. As Yonder Glittering Lamps On High Through Night Illumin'D Roll; My Thoughts Of Him, By Whom They Shine, Chase Darkness From My Soul; My Soul, Which Reads His Hand As Clear In My Minute Affairs, As In His Ample Manuscript Of Sun, And Moon, And Stars; And Knows Him Not More Bent Aright To Wield That Vast Machine, Than To Correct One Erring Thought In My Small World Within; A World, That Shall Survive The Fall Of All His Wonders Here; Survive, When Suns Ten Thousand Drop, And Leave A Darken'D Sphere. Yon Matter Gross, How Bright It Shines! For Time How Great His Care! Sure Spirit And Eternity Far Richer Glories Share; Let Those Our Hearts Impress, On Those Our Contemplation Dwell; On Those My Thoughts How Justly Thrown, By What I Now Shall Tell: When Backward With Attentive Mind Life'S Labyrinth I Trace, I Find Him Far Myself Beyond Propitious To My Peace: Through All The Crooked Paths I Trod, My Folly He Pursued; My Heart Astray To Quick Return Importunately Woo'D; Due Resignation Home To Press On My Capricious Will, How Many Rescues Did I Meet, Beneath The Mask Of Ill! How Many Foes In Ambush Laid Beneath My Soul'S Desire! The Deepest Penitents Are Made By What We Most Admire. Have I Not Sometimes (Real Good So Little Mortals Know!) Mounting The Summit Of My Wish, Profoundly Plung'D In Woe? I Rarely Plann'D, But Cause I Found My Plan'S Defeat To Bless: Oft I Lamented An Event; It Turn'D To My Success. By Sharpen'D Appetite To Give To Good Intense Delight, Through Dark And Deep Perplexities He Led Me To The Right. And Is Not This The Gloomy Path, Which You Are Treading Now? The Path Most Gloomy Leads To Light, When Our Proud Passions Bow: When Labouring Under Fancied Ill, My Spirits To Sustain, He Kindly Cur'D With Sovereign Draughts Of Unimagin'D Pain. Pain'D Sense From Fancied Tyranny Alone Can Set Us Free; A Thousand Miseries We Feel, Till Sunk In Misery. Cloy'D With A Glut Of All We Wish, Our Wish We Relish Less; Success, A Sort Of Suicide, Is Ruin'D By Success: Sometimes He Led Me Near To Death, And, Pointing To The Grave, Bid Terror Whisper Kind Advice; And Taught The Tomb To Save: To Raise My Thoughts Beyond Where Worlds As Spangles O'Er Us Shine, One Day He Gave, And Bid The Next My Soul'S Delight Resign. We To Ourselves, But Through The Means Of Mirrors, Are Unknown; In This My Fate Can You Descry No Features Of Your Own? And If You Can, Let That Excuse These Self-Recording Lines; A Record, Modesty Forbids, Or To Small Bound Confines: In Grief Why Deep Ingulf'D? You See You Suffer Nothing Rare; Uncommon Grief For Common Fate! That Wisdom Cannot Bear. When Streams Flow Backward To Their Source, And Humbled Flames Descend, And Mountains Wing'D Shall Fly Aloft, Then Human Sorrows End; But Human Prudence Too Must Cease, When Sorrows Domineer, When Fortitude Has Lost Its Fire, And Freezes Into Fear: