ine their sonorous instruments aloft;
he concert swell, and animate the ball.
ould this appear amazing? What, then, worlds,
a far thinner element sustain'd,

nd acting the same part, with greater skill,
ore rapid movement, and for noblest ends?
More obvious ends to pass, are not these stars
e seats majestic, proud imperial thrones,
1 which angelic delegates of Heaven,
: certain periods, as the Sovereign nods,
ischarge high trusts of vengeance, or of love;
clothe, in outward grandeur, grand design,
nd acts most solemn still more solemnize?
citizens of air! what ardent thanks,
hat full effusion of the grateful heart,
- due from man indulg'd in such a sight!
sight so noble! and a sight so kind!
drops new truths at every new survey!
els not Lorenzo something stir within,

at sweeps away all period? As these spheres
easure duration, they no less inspire
e godlike hope of ages without end.

[take

e boundless space, through which these rovers eir restless roam, suggests the sister-thought boundless time. Thus, by kind Nature's skill, > man unlabour'd, that important guest, ernity, finds entrance at the sight: ad an eternity, for man ordain'd,

these his destin'd midnight counsellors, he stars, had never whisper'd it to man. ature informs, but ne'er insults, her sons. ould she then kindle the most ardent wish disappoint it?-That is blasphemy. hus, of thy creed a second article, omentous, as the existence of a God, found (as I conceive) where rarely sought: nd thou mayst read thy soul immortal, here. Here, then, Lorenzo! on these glories dwell; or want the guilt-illuminated roof,

hat calls the wretched gay to dark delights. ssemblies?- This is one divinely bright; dere, unendanger'd in health, wealth, or fame, ange through the fairest, and the Sultan scorn. e, wise as thou, no crescent holds so fair, s that, which on his turban awes a world; nd thinks the Moon is proud to copy him.

ook on her, and gain more than worlds can give, mind superior to the charms of power. hou muffled in delusions of this life! an yonder Moon turn ocean in his bed, 'rom side to side, in constant ebb and flow, And purify from stench his watery realms? And fails her moral influence? wants she power To turn Lorenzo's stubborn tide of thought From stagnating on Earth's infected shore, And purge from nuisance his corrupted heart? Fails her attraction when it draws to Heaven? Nay, and to what thou valuest more, Earth's joy? Minds elevate, and panting for unseen, And defecate from sense, alone obtain Full relish of existence un-deflower'd, The life of life, the zest of worldly bliss:

All else on Earth amounts-to what? To this: "Bad to be suffer'd; blessings to be left :" Earth's richest inventory boasts no more.

Of higher scenes be, then, the call obey'd. O let me gaze!-Of gazing there's no end. O let me think!- Thought too is wilder'd here; In mid-way flight imagination tires; Yet soon re-prunes her wing to soar anew,

Her point unable to forbear, or gain ;
So great the pleasure, so profound the plan!
A banquet, this, where men and angels meet,
Eat the same manna, mingle Earth and Heaven.
How distant some of the nocturnal suns!
So distant (says the sage), 't were not absurd
To doubt, if beams, set out at Nature's birth,
Are yet arriv'd at this so foreign world;
Though nothing half so rapid as their flight.
An eye of awe and wonder let me roll,
And roll for ever: who can satiate sight
In such a scene? in such an ocean wide

Of deep astonishment? where depth, height, breadth,
Are lost in their extremes; and where to count
The thick-sown glories in this field of fire,
Perhaps a seraph's computation fails.

Now, go, Ambition! boast thy boundless might
In conquest o'er the tenth part of a grain.
And yet Lorenzo calls for miracles,
To give his tottering faith a solid base.
Why call for less than is already thine?
Thou art no novice in theology;
What is a miracle? —'T is a reproach,
'T is an implicit satire, on mankind;
And while it satisfies, it censures too.

To common sense, great Nature's course proclaims
A Deity: when mankind falls asleep,
A miracle is sent, as an alarm;

To wake the world, and prove him o'er again,
By recent argument, but not more strong.
Say, which imports more plenitude of power,
Or Nature's laws to fir, or to repeal?
To make a sun, or stop his mid career?
To countermand his orders, and send back
The flaming courier to the freighted East,
Warm'd, and astonish'd, at his evening ray;
Or bid the Moon, as with her journey tir'd,
In Ajalon's soft, flowery vale repose?
Great things are these; still greater, to create.
From Adam's bower look down through the whole

train

Of miracles; - resistless is their power?
They do not, can not, more amaze the mind,
Than this, call'd un-miraculous survey,
If duly weigh'd, if rationally seen,

If seen with human eyes. The brute, indeed,
Sees nought but spangles here; the fool, no more.
Say'st thou, "The course of Nature governs all ?"
The course of Nature is the art of God.
The miracles thou call'st for, this attests;
For say, Could Nature Nature's course control?
But miracles apart, who sees him not,

Nature's Controller, Author, Guide, and End!
Who turns his eye on Nature's midnight face,
But must inquire-❝ What hand behind the scene,
What arm Almighty, put these wheeling globes
In motion, and wound up the vast machine?
Who rounded in his palm these spacious orbs?
Who bow'd them flaming through the dark profound,
Numerous as glittering gems of morning-dew,
Or sparks from populous cities in a blaze,
And set the bosom of old night on fire?
Peopled her desert, and made horrour smile?"
Or, if the military style delights thee, [man,)
(For stars have fought their battles, leagu'd with
"Who marshals this bright host? enrols their

names?

Appoints their post, their marches, and returns Punctual at stated periods? Who disbands These veteran troops, their final duty done,

If e'er disbanded?"- He, whose potent word,
Like the loud trumpet, levy'd first their powers
In night's inglorious empire, where they slept
In beds of darkness: arm'd them with fierce flames,
Arrang'd, and disciplin'd, and cloth'd in gold;
And call'd them out of chaos to the field,
Where now they war with vice and unbelief.
O let us join this army! joining these,
Will give us hearts intrepid, at that hour,
When brighter flames shall cut a darker night;
When these strong demonstrations of a God
Shall hide their heads, or tumble from their spheres,
And one eternal curtain cover all!

Struck at that thought, as new awak'd, I lift
A more enlighten'd eye, and read the stars
To man still more propitious; and their aid
(Though guiltless of idolatry) implore;
Nor longer rob them of their noblest name.
O ye dividers of my time! Ye bright
Accomptants of my days, and months, and years,
In your fair calendar distinctly marked!
Since that authentic, radiant register,

Though man inspects it not, stands good against him; Since you and years roll on, though man stands still;

Teach me my days to number, and apply
My trembling heart to wisdom; now beyond
All shadow of excuse for fooling on.

Age smooths our path to prudence! sweeps aside
The snares keen appetite and passion spread
To catch stray souls; and woe to that gray head,
Whose folly would undo what age has done!
Aid then, aid, all ye stars! - Much rather, thou,
Great Artist! thou, whose finger set aright
This exquisite machine, with all its wheels,
Though intervolv'd, exact; and pointing out
Life's rapid and irrevocable flight,
With such an inder fair as none can miss,
Who lifts an eye, nor sleeps till it is clos'd;
Open mine eye, dread Deity! to read
The tacit doctrine of thy works; to see
Things as they are, un-alter'd through the glass
Of worldly wishes. Time, eternity!
('T is these, mis-measured, ruin all mankind)
Set them before me; let me lay them both
In equal scale, and learn their various weight.
Let time appear a moment, as it is;
And let eternity's full orb, at once,
Turn on my soul, and strike it into Heaven.
When shall I see far more than charms me now?
Gaze on creation's model in thy breast
Unveil'd, nor wonder at the transcript more?
When this vile, foreign dust, which smothers all
That travel Earth's deep vale, shall I shake off?
When shall my soul her incarnation quit,
And, re-adopted to thy blest embrace,
Obtain her apotheosis in thee?

Dost think, Lorenzo, this is wandering wide?
No, 't is directly striking at the mark;
To wake thy dead devotion was my point;
And how I bless night's consecrating shades,
Which to a temple turn an universe;
Fill us with great ideas, full of Heaven,
And antidote the pestilential Earth!
In every storm, that either frowns, or falls,
What an asylum has the soul in prayer!
And what a fane is this, in which to pray!
And what a God must dwell in such a fane!

* Page 596.

O what a genius must inform the skies!
And is Lorenzo's salamander heart

Cold, and untouch'd, amid the sacred fires?
O ye nocturnal sparks! ye glowing embers,
On Heaven's broad hearth! who burn, or burn

more,

Who blaze, or die, as great Jehovah's breath
Or blows you, or forbears: assist my song;
Pour your whole influence; exorcise his heart,
So long possest; and bring him back to man.
And is Lorenzo a demurrer still?
Pride in thy parts provokes thee to contest
Truths, which, contested, put thy parts to shame.
Nor shame they more Lorenzo's head than heart,
A faithless heart, how despicably small!
Too strait aught great, or generous, to receive!
Fill'd with an atom! fill'd, and foul'd, with self?
And self-mistaken! self, that lasts an hour!
Instincts and passions, of the nobler kind,
Lie suffocated there; or they alone,
Reason apart, would wake high hope; and open,
To ravish'd thought, that intellectual sphere,
Where order, wisdom, goodness, providence,
Their endless miracles of love display,
And promise all the truly-great desire.
The mind that would be happy, must be great;
Great, in its wishes; great, in its surveys;
Extended views a narrow mind extend;
Push out its corrugate, expansive make,
Which, ere long, more than planets shall embrace.
A man of compass makes a man of worth;
Divine contemplate, and become divine.

As man was made for glory, and for bliss,
All littleness is in approach to woe;
Open thy bosom, set thy wishes wide,
And let in manhood; let in happiness;
Admit the boundless theatre of thought
From nothing, up to God; which makes a mat
Take God from Nature, nothing great is left!
Man's mind is in a pit, and nothing sees;
Man's heart is in a jakes, and loves the mire.
Emerge from thy profound; erect thine eye;
See thy distress! how close art thou besieg'd!
Besieg'd by Nature, the proud sceptic's foe!
Enclos'd by these innumerable worlds,
Sparkling conviction on the darkest mind,
As in a golden net of Providence.
How art thou caught, sure captive of belief!
From this thy blest captivity, what art,
What blasphemy to reason, sets thee free!
This scene is Heaven's indulgent violence :
Canst thou bear up against this tide of glory?
What is earth bosom'd in these ambient orbs,
But, faith in God impos'd, and press'd on man?
Dar'st thou still litigate thy desperate cause,
Spite of these numerous, aweful witnesses,
And doubt the deposition of the skies?
O how laborious is thy way to ruin!

Laborious! 't is impracticable quite;
To sink beyond a doubt, in this debate,
With all his weight of wisdom and of will,
And crime flagitious, I defy a fool.
Some wish they did; but no man disbelieves.
God is a spirit; spirit cannot strike
These gross, material organs; God by man
As much is seen, as man a God can see,
In these astonishing exploits of power.
What order, beauty, motion, distance, size!
Conception of design, how exquisite !
How complicate, in their divine police!

Who travel far, discover where he dwells?
A star his dwelling pointed out below.
Ye Pleiades! Arcturus! Mazaroth!
And thou, Orion! of still keener eye!
Say ye, who guide the wilder'd in the waves,
And bring them out of tempest into port!
On which hand must I bend my course to find him?
These courtiers keep the secret of their King;
I wake whole nights, in vain, to steal it from them.
I wake; and, waking, climb night's radiant
scale,

From sphere to sphere; the steps by Nature set
For man's ascent; at once to tempt and aid;
To tempt his eye, and aid his towering thought;
Till it arrives at the great God of all.

In ardent contemplation's rapid car,
From Earth, as from my barrier, I set out.
How swift I mount! diminish'd Earth recedes;
I pass the Moon; and, from her farther side,
Pierce Heaven's blue curtain; strike into remote;
Where, with his lifted tube, the subtle sage
His artificial, airy journey takes,
And to celestial lengthens human sight.
I pause at every planet on my road,
And ask for him who gives their orbs to roll,

Their foreheads fair to shine. From Saturn's ring,
In which, of Earths an army might be lost,
With the bold comet take my bolder flight,
Amid those sovereign glories of the skies,
Of independent, native lustre, proud;
The souls of systems! and the lords of life,
Through their wide empires !-What behold I now?
A wilderness of wonder burning round;
Where larger suns inhabit higher spheres;
Perhaps the villas of descending gods;
Nor halt I here; my toil is but begun ;
'T is but the threshold of the Deity;
Or, far beneath it, I am grovelling still.
Nor is it strange; I built on a mistake;
The grandeur of his works, whence folly sought
For aid, to reason sets his glory higher;

Who built thus high for worms (mere worms to him)
O where, Lorenzo! must the Builder dwell?

Pause, then, and, for a moment, here respire. If human thought can keep its station here. Where am I? Where is Earth? - Nay, where art thou,

O Sun? Is the Sun turn'd recluse?
. And are
His boasted expeditions short to mine?—
To mine, how short! On Nature's alps I stand,
And see a thousand firmaments beneath!
A thousand systems! as a thousand grains!
So much a stranger, and so late arriv'd,
How can man's curious spirit not inquire,
What are the natives of this world sublime,
Of this so foreign, un-terrestrial sphere,
Where mortal, untranslated, never stray'd?
"O ye, as distant from my little home,
As swiftest sun-beams in an age can fly!
Far from my native element I roam,
In quest of new, and wonderful, to man.
What province this, of his immense domain,
Whom all obeys? or mortals here, or gods?
Ye borderers on the coasts of bliss! what are you?
A colony from Heaven? Or, only rais'd, [realms,
By frequent visit from Heaven's neighbouring
To secondary gods, and half-divine?-
Whate'er your nature, this is past dispute,
Far other life you live, far other tongue
You talk, far other thought, perhaps, you think,

Than man.
How various are the works of God!
But say, what thought? is reason here enthron'd,
And absolute? or sense in arms against her?
Have you two lights? or need you no reveal'd?
Enjoy your happy realms their golden age?
And had your Eden an abstemious Eve?
Our Eve's fair daughters prove their pedigree,
And ask their Adams -Who would not be wise?"
Or, if your mother fell, are you redeem'd ?
And if redeem'd—is your Redeemer scorn'd?
Is this your final residence? if not,
Change you your scene, translated? or by death?
And if by death, what death? - Know you disease?
Or horrid war? With war, this fatal hour,
Europa groans (so call we a small field,

1

[putes

Where kings run mad). In our world, Death de-
Intemperance to do the work of age?

And hanging up the quiver Nature gave him,
As slow of execution, for dispatch

Sends forth imperial butchers; bids them slay Their sheep (the silly sheep they fleec'd before) And toss him twice ten thousand at a meal. Sit all your executioners on thrones? With you, can rage for plunder make a god? And bloodshed wash out every other stain? · But you, perhaps, can't bleed: from matter gross Your spirits clean, are delicately clad In fine-spun ether, privileg'd to soar, Unloaded, uninfected; how unlike The lot of man! How few of human race By their own mud unmurder'd! How we wage Self-war eternal! Is your painful day Of hardy conflict o'er? Or, are you still Raw candidates at school? And have you those Who disaffect reversions, as with us? But what are we? You never heard of man; Or Earth, the bedlam of the universe! Where reason (undiseas'd with you) runs mad, And nurses folly's children as her own; Fond of the foulest. In the sacred mount Of holiness, where reason is pronounc'd | Infallible; and thunders, like a god; E'en there, by saints, the demons are outdone; What these think wrong, our saints refine to right; And kindly teach dull Hell her own black arts; Satan, instructed, o'er their morals smiles. — But this, how strange to you, who know not man! Has the least rumour of our race arriv'd? Call'd here Elijah in his flaming car? Pass'd by you the good Enoch, on his road To those fair fields, whence Lucifer was hurl'd; Who brush'd, perhaps, your sphere in his descent, Stain'd your pure crystal ether, or let fall A short eclipse from his portentous shade? O! that the fiend had lodg'd on some broad orb Athwart his way; nor reach'd his present home, Then blacken'd Earth with footsteps foul'd in Hell, Nor wash'd in ocean, as from Rome he pass'd To Britain's isle; too, too, conspicuous there!" But this is all digression: where is he, That o'er Heaven's battlements the felon hurl'd To groans, and chains, and darkness? Where is he, Who sees creation's summit in a vale? He, whom, while man is man, he can't but seek; And if he finds, commences more than man? O for a telescope his throne to reach! Tell me, ye learn'd on Earth! or blest above! Ye searching, ye Newtonian angels! tell, [where? Where, your great Master's orb? His planets Those conscious satellites, those morning-stars,