Ages to years. The telescope is turn'd:
To man's false optics (from his folly false)
Time, in advance, behind him hides his wings,
And seems to creep, decrepit with his age,
Behold him when pass'd by; what then is seen
But his broad pinions swifter than the winds?
And all mankind, in contradiction strong,
Rueful, aghast, cry out on his career.

140

Leave to thy foes these errors and these ills; To Nature just, their cause and cure explore. Not short Heaven's bounty, boundless our expense ; No niggard Nature, men are prodigals.

145

We waste, not use our time; we breathe, not live.
Time wasted is existence; used, is life:

150

And bare existence man, to live ordain'd,

Wrings and oppresses with enormous weight.

And why? since time was given for use, not waste,

Enjoin'd to fly, with tempest, tide, and stars,

To keep his speed, nor ever wait for man.

155

Time's use was doom'd a pleasure, waste a pain,

That man might feel his error if unseen,

And, feeling, fly to labour for his cure ;

Not, blundering, split on idleness for ease.

159

Life's cares are comforts; such by Heaven design'd; He that has none must make them, or be wretched. Cares are employments, and without employ

The soul is on a rack, the rack of rest,

To souls most adverse, action all their joy.

Here then the riddle, mark'd above, unfolds;
Then Time turns torment, when man turns a fool.
We rave, we wrestle with great Nature's plan;
We thwart the Deity; and 'tis decreed,
Who thwart His will shall contradict their own.
Hence our unnatural quarrels with ourselves;
Our thoughts at enmity; our bosom-broil :
We push Time from us, and we wish him back.
Lavish of lustrums, and yet fond of life:

165

170

Life we think long and short, death seek and shun:
Body and soul, like peevish man and wife,
United jar, and yet are loath to part.

Oh the dark days of vanity! while here

How tasteless! and how terrible when gone!

175

Gone? they ne'er go; when pass'd, they haunt us still. The spirit walks of every day deceased,

And smiles an angel, or a fury frowns.

180

Nor death nor life delight us. If time past

And time possess'd both pain us, what can please!
That which the Deity to please ordain'd,

Time used. The man who consecrates his hours 185
By vigorous effort and an honest aim,

At once he draws the sting of life and death;
He walks with Nature, and her paths are peace.

Our error's cause and cure are seen: see next
Time's nature, origin, importance, speed,
And thy great gain from urging his career,—
All sensual man, because untouch'd, unseen,
He looks on Time as nothing. Nothing else
Is truly man's; 'tis Fortune's.-Time's a god!
Hast thou ne'er heard of Time's omnipotence?
For, or against, what wonders can he do!
And will: to stand blank neuter he disdains.

190

195

Not on those terms was Time (Heaven's stranger!) sent

On his important embassy to man.

Lorenzo! no: on the long-destined hour,

200

From everlasting ages growing ripe,

That memorable hour of wondrous birth,

When the Dread Sire, cn emanation bent,

And big with Nature, rising in his might,

Call'd forth Creation (for then Time was born)

205

By Godhead streaming through a thousand worlds; Not on those terms, from the great days of Heaven, From old Eternity's mysterious orb

Was Time cut off, and cast beneath the skies;
The skies, which watch him in his new abode,
Measuring his motions by revolving spheres,

210

That horologe machinery divine.

Hours, days, and months, and years, his children, play,

Like numerous wings, around him, as he flies;

Or rather, as unequal plumes they shape

213

His ample pinions, swift as darted flame,

To gain his goal, to reach his ancient rest,
And join anew Eternity, his sire;

In his immutability to nest,

219

When worlds, that count his circles ncw, unhinged
(Fate the loud signal sounding) headlong rush
To timeless night and chaos, whence they rose.
Why spur the speedy' why with levities
New-wing thy short, short day's too rapid flight?
Know'st thou or what thou dost, or what is done? 225
Man flies from Time, and Time from man: too soon,
In sad divorce, this double flight must end;
And then where are we? where, Lorenzo! then,

Thy sports, thy pomps? I grant thee in a state
Not unambitious; in the ruffled shroud,
Thy Parian tomb's triumphant arch beneath.

230

Has Death his fopperies? then well may Life
Put on her plume, and in her rainbow shine.
Ye well array'd! ye lilies of our land!
Ye lilies male! who neither toil nor spin,
(As sister-lilies might) if not so wise
As Solomon, more sumptuous to the sight!
Ye delicate! who nothing can support,
Yourselves most insupportable! for whom
The winter-rose must blow, the Sun put on
A brighter beam in Leo; silky-soft,
Favonious! breathe still softer, or be chid;

235

240

And other worlds send odours, sauce, and song,
And robes, and notions, framed in foreign looms!
O ye Lorenzos of our age! who deem

245

One moment unamused a misery

For every bauble drivel'¿ o'er by sense;
For rattles and conceits of every cast;

Not made for feeble man! who call alond

For change of follies and relays of joy,

250

To drag your patient through the tedious length
Of a short winter's day—say, sages! say,

Wit's oracles! say, dreamers of

gay dreams!

How will you weather an eternal night,

Where such expedients fail?—

255

O treacherous Conscience! while she seems to sleep

On rose and myrtle, lull'd with siren song;

While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop

On headlong Appetite the slacken’d rein,

And give us up to license, unrecall'd,

260

Unmark'd: see, from behind her secret stand,

Our dawning purposes of heart explores,
And steals our embryos of iniquity.

As all-rapacious usurers conceal

270

Their doomsday-book from all-consuming heirs,

Thus, with indulgence most severe, she treats
Us spendthrifts of inestimable time,

275

Unnoted, notes cach moment misapplied;
In leaves more durable than leaves of brass
Writes our whole history, v'hich Death shall read
In every pale delinquent's private ear,
And judgment publish, publish to more worlds
Than this, and endless age in groans resound.
Lorenzo! such that sleeper in thy breast;
Such is her slumber, and her vengeance such
For slighted counsel; such thy future peace;
And think'st thou still thou canst be wise too soon s
But why on time so lavish is my song?

280

On this great theme kind Nature keeps a school 285 To teach her sons herself. Each night we dic;

Each morn are born anew: each day a life'

290

And shall we kill each day? If trifling kills,
Sure vice must butcher. O what heaps of slain
Cry out for vengeance on us! Time destroy'd
Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt.
Time flies, death urges, knells call, Heaven invites,
Hell threatens : all exerts; in effort all,
More than creation, labours! Labours more?

And is there in creation what, amidst

This tumult universal, wing'd despatch,

295

And ardent energy, supinely yawns?—

Man sleeps, and man alone; and man, whose fate,
Fate irreversible, entire, extreme,

Endless, hair-hung, breeze-shaken, o'er the gulf 300
A moment trembles; drops! and man, for whom

All else is in alarm; man, the sole cause

Of this surrounding storm! and yet he sleeps,
As the storm rock'd to rest!-Throw years away?
Throw empires, and be blameless: moments seize, 305
Heaven's on their wing; a moment we may wish,
When worlds want wealth to buy. Bid Day stand still,
Bid him drive back his car, and reimport
The period past, regive the given hour.
Lorenzo! more than miracles we want.
Lorenzo-O for yesterdays to come!

Such is the language of the man awake,
His ardour such for what oppresses thee.
And is his ardour vain, Lorenzo? No;
That more than miracle the gods indulge.

310

315

To-day is yesterday return'd; return'd

Full power'd to cancel, expiate, raise, adorn,
And reinstate us on the rock of peace.

Let it not share its predecessor's fate,
Nor, like its elder sisters, die a fool.
Shall it evaporate in fume, fly off

320

Fuliginous, and stain us deeper still?

Shall we be poorer for the plenty pour'd?

More wretched for the clemencies of Heaven?

324

Where shall I find him Angels tell me where⚫