Her death*-my own at hand-the fiery gulf,
That flaming bound of wrath omnipotent!
It thunders ;-but it thunders to preserve;

It strengthens what it strikes; its wholesome dread
Averts the dreaded pain its hideous groans
Join heaven's sweet hallelujahs in thy praise,
Great Source of good alone! how kind in all!
In vengeance kind! pain, death, Gehena, save!
Thus, in thy world material, mighty Mind!
Not that alone which solaces and shines,
The rough and gloomy, challenges our praise.
The winter is as needful as the spring;

476

480

The thunder as the sun. A stagnate mass

Of vapours breeds a pestilential air.
Nor more propitious the Favonian breeze

485

And, in their use, eclipses learr to shine.
Man is responsible for ills received;

These we call wretched are a chosen band,
Compell'd to refuge in the right, for peace.
Amid my list of blessings infinite

495

Stand this the foremost, 'That my heart has bled.' 'Tis Heaven's last effort of good will to man.

When pain can't bless, Heaven quits us in despair!
Who fails to grieve, when just occasior calls,
Or grieves too much, deserves not to be bless'd;
Inhuman, or effeminate, his heart.

500

Reason absolves the grief which reason ends.

May Heaven ne'er trust my friend with happiness,

Till it has taught him how to bear it well

505

By previous pain, and made it safe to smile!

Such smiles are mine, and such may they remain,
Nor hazard their extinction from excess.

* Lucia.

My change of heart a change of style demands;
The Consolation cancels the Complaint,

510

And makes a convert of my guilty song.

As when o'erlabour'd, and inclined to breathe,

A panting traveller some rising ground,

515

Some small ascent, has gain'd, he turns him round,✩
And measures with his eye the various vale,
The fields, woods, meads, and rivers, he has pass'd,
And, satiate of his journey, thinks of home,
Endear'd by distance, nor affects more toil;

Thus I, though small, indeed, is that ascent

The Muse has gain'd, review the paths she trod, 520
Various, extensive, beaten but by few;

And, conscious of her prudence in repose,
Pause, and with pleasure meditate an end,
Though still remote; so fruitful is my theme.
Through many a field of moral and divine

The Muse has stray'd, and much of sorrow seen
In human ways, and much of false and vain,
Which none who travel this bad road can miss.
O'er friends deceased full heartily she wept ;
Of love divine the wonders she display'd;
Proved man immortal; show'd the source of joy ;
The grand tribunal raised; assign'd the bounds
Of human grief. In few, to close the whole,
The moral Muse has shadow'd out a sketch,

525

530

Though not in form, nor with a Raphael stroke, 535
Of most our weakness needs believe or do,
In this our land of travail and of hope,

For peace on earth, or prospect of the skies.

541

What then remains? much! much! a mighty debt To be discharged. These thoughts, O Night! are thine; From thee they came, like lovers' secret sighs, While others siept. So Cynthia (poets feign,) In shadows veil'd, soft-sliding from her sphere, Her shepherd cheer'd; of her enamour'd less Than I of thee.-And art thou still unsung, Beneath whose brow, and by whose aid, I sing

548

immortal Silence! where shall I begin?

Where end? or how steal music from the spheres
To sooth their goddess?

O majestic Night'
Nature's great ancestor! Day's elder-born'
And fated to survive the transient Sun'

550

By mortals and immortals seen with awe!

A starry crown thy raven brow adorns,

An azure zone thy waist; clouds, in heaven's loom Wrought through varieties of shape and shade,

In ample folds of drapery divine,

Thy flowing mantle form, and, heaven throughout, Voluminously pour thy pompous train:

555

Thy gloomy grandeurs (Nature's most august,
Inspiring aspect !) claim a grateful verse;
And, like a sable curtain starr'd with gold,

560

Drawn o'er my labours past, shall close the scene.
And what, O man! so worthy to be sung?
What more prepares us for the songs of heaven?
Creation of archangels is the theme!
What to be sung so needful, what so well
Celestial joys prepare us to sustain ?

565

The soul of man, His face design'd to see

Who gave these wonders to be seen by man,
Has here a previous scene of objects great
On which to dwell; to stretch to that expanse
Of thought, to rise to that exalted height
Of admiration, to contract that awe,

570

And give her whole capacities that strength

Which best may qualify for final joy.

575

The more our spirits are enlarged on earth,

The deeper draught shall they receive of heaven. [bliss,

580

Heaven's King! whose face unveil'd consummates Redundant bliss! which fills that mighty void The whole Creation leaves in human hearts! Thou! who didst touch the lip of Jesse's son, Rapp'd in sweet contemplation of these fires, And set his harp in concert with the spheres,

While of thy works material the supreme

I dare attempt, assist my daring song:

585

Loose me from Earth's enclosure; from the Sun s
Contracted circle set my heart at large;
Eliminate my spirit, give it range

Through provinces of thought yet unexplored;
Teach me, by this stupendous scaffolding,
Creation's golden steps, to climb to Thee :
Teach me with art great Nature to control,
And spread a lustre o'er the shades of night.
Feel I thy kind assent? and shall the Sun
Be seen at midnight, rising in my song?

590

595

Lorenzo! come, and warm thee: thou, whose heart,

Whose little heart, is moor'd within a nook

Of this obscure terrestrial, anchor weigh;
Another ocean calls, a nobler port;
I am thy pilot, I thy prosperous gale:
Gainful thy voyage through yon azure main,
Main without tempest, pirate, rock, or shore,
And whence thou mayst import eternal wealth,
And leave to beggar'd minds the pearl and gold.
Thy travels dost thou boast o'er foreign realms!
Thou stranger to the world! thy tour begin;
Thy tour through Nature's universal orb.
Nature delineates her whole chart at large,
On soaring souls, that sail among the spheres ;
And man how purblind, if unknown the whole.
Who circles spacious earth, then travels here,
Shall own he never was from home before.
Come, my Prometheus!* from thy pointed rock
Of false ambition, if unchain'd, we'll mount;

600

605

610

We'll, innocently, steal celestial fire,

615

And kindle our devotion at the stars;

A theft that shall not chain, but set thee free.
Above our atmosphere's intestine wars,
Rain's fountain-head, the magazine of hail;
Above the northern nests of feather'd snows,
*See Night the Eighth, p. 182.

620

The brew of thunders, and the flaming forge
That forms the crooked lightning: 'bove the caves
Where infant tempests wait their growing wings,
And tune their tender voices to that roar,

Which soon, perhaps, shall shake a guilty world; 625
Above misconstrued omens of the sky,

Far travel'd comets' calculated blaze,

Elance thy thought, and think of more than man
Thy soul, till now contracted, wither'd, shrunk,
Blighted by blasts of Earth's unwholesome air,
Will blossom here; spread all her faculties
To these bright ardours, every power unfold,
And rise into sublimities of thought.

630

Stars teach, as well as shine. At Nature's birth
Thus their commission ran.- Be kind to man.' 635
Where art thou, poor benighted traveller !

The stars will light thee, though the moon should fail.
Where art thou, more benighted! more astray!
In ways immoral? the stars call thee back,
And, if obey'd their counsel, set thee right.

640

This prospect vast, what is it ?—Weigh'd aright 'Tis Nature's system of divinity,

And every student of the night inspires.

'Tis elder Scripture, writ by God's own hand;

Scripture authentic! uncorrupt by man.

645

Lorenzo! with my radius (the rich gift

Of thought nocturnal) I'll point out to thee

Its various lessons; some that may surprise
An unadept in mysteries of Night;

Little, perhaps, expected in her school,

650

Nor thought to grow on planet or on star,

Bulls, lions, scorpions, monsters here we feign,

Ourselves more monstrous, not to see what here

Exists, indeed,-a lecture to mankind!

What read we here ?-the' existence of a God? 655

Yes and of other beings, man above;

:

Natives of ether! sons of higher climes!

And, what may move Lorenzo's wonder more,