1345 Will make him more: a bounteous joy! that gives And promises; that weaves, with art divine, There, O my Lucia! may I meet thee there, 351 1355 1360 'Our schemes to plan by this world, or the next, 1370 Thus save your fame, and make two worlds your own. The world replies not ;-but the world persists, 1375 And puts the cause off to the longest day, Planning evasions for the day of doom: So far, at that rehearing, from redress, They then turn witnesses against themselves. 1 1380 For who shall answer for another hour? Tis highly prudent to make one sure friend, And that thou canst not do, this side the skies. 1390 Ye sons of Earth! (nor willing to be more!) 1385 Since verse you think from priestcraft somewhat free, Thus, in an age so gay, the Muse plain truths (Truths which, at church, you might have heard in prose) Has ventured into light, well pleased the verse Should be forgot, if you the truths retain, And crown her with your welfare, not your praise. But praise she need not fear: I see my fate, And headlong leap, like Curtius, down the gulf. Since many an ample volume, mighty tome, Must die, and die unwept; O thou minute Devoted page! go forth among thy foes; Go, nobly proud of martyrdom for truth, 1395 And die a double death: mankind, incensed, 1401 And bold blasphemer of his friend, the World! The world, whose legions cost him slender pay, 1405 'Are all, then, fools?' Lorenzo cries.-Yes, all But such as hold this doctrine (new to thee,) 'The mother of true wisdom is the will:' The noblest intellect, a fool without it. World-wisdom much has done, and more may do, 1410 In arts and sciences, in wars and peace; But art and science, like thy wealth, will leave thee, 'Thy wisdom all can do but-make thee wise.' Nor think this censure is severe on thee: Satan, thy master, I dare call a dunce. 1415 THE CONSOLATION. NIGHT IX. CONTAINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, 1 A MORAL SURVEY OF THE NOCTURNAL HEAVENS II. A NIGHT ADDRESS TO THE DEITY. HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE. Fatis contraria fata rependens. As when a traveller, a long day pass'd In painful search of what he cannot find, Virg. At night's approach, content with the next cot, Then, cheers his heart with what his fate affords, 5 And chants his sonnet to deceive the time, Till the due season calls him to repose; 10 15 20 Torn from my bleeding breast, and death's dark shade, Though far, far higher set; in aim, I trust, 25 Has not the Muse asserted pleasures pure, Like those above, exploding other joys? 30 Thy smile's sincere; not more sincere can oe Lorenzo's smile, than my compassion for him. The sick in body call for aid; the sick 35 And, when at worst, they dream themselves quite well. And Conscience, deaden'd by repeated strokes, 40 To triumph in the blackness of our guilt (As Indians glory in the deepest jet,) And throw aside our senses with our peace. 45 But, grant no guilt, no shame, no least alloy; Grant joy and glory quite unsullied shone; Yet, still, it ili deserves Lorenzo's heart. No joy, no glory glitters in thy sight, But, through the thin partition of an hour, 50 I see its sables wove by Destiny ; And that in sorrow buried, this in shame; While howling furies ring the doleful knell, And Conscience, now so soft thou scarce canst hear Her whisper, echoes her eternal peal. 55 Where the prime actors of the last year's scene, But needless monuments to wake the thought; 'Profess'd diversions! cannot these escape?' 60 65 70 75 80 Shed generous tears on wretches born to die; What all the pomps and triumphs of our lives But egacies in blossom? Our lean soil, 85 From friends interr'd beneath, a rich manure? 90 Lorenzo! such the glories of the world! |