410

The love of praise is planted to protect,
And propagate the glories of the mind.
What is it, but the love of praise, inspires,
Matures, refines, embellishes, exalts,
Earth's happiness? From that, the delicate,
The grand, the marvellous, of civil life,
Want and convenience, under-workers, lay
The basis, on which love of glory builds.
Nor is thy life, O virtue! less in debt
To praise, thy secret stimulating friend.
Were men not proud, what merit should we miss!
Pride made the virtues of the pagan world.
Praise is the salt that seasons right to man,
And whets his appetite for moral good.
Thirst of applause is virtue's second guard;
Reason, her first; but reason wants an aid;
Our private reason is a flatterer;

Thirst of applause calls public judgment in,
To poise our own, to keep an even scale,
And give endanger'd virtue fairer play.

Here a fifth proof arises, stronger still:
Why this so nice construction of our hearts?
These delicate moralities of sense;
This constitutional reserve of aid

To succour virtue, when our reason fails;

If virtue, kept alive by care and toil,

And, oft, the mark of injuries on Earth, When labour'd to maturity (its bill

420

430

Thus far ambition. What says avarice? This her chief maxim, which has long been thine : "The wise and wealthy are the same,"-I graut it. To store up treasure, with incessant toil, This is man's province, this his highest praise. To this great end keen instinct stings him on. To guide that instinct, reason! is thy charge; 450 "T is thine to tell us where true treasure lies: But, reason failing to discharge her trust, Or to the deaf discharging it in vain, A blunder follows; and blind industry, Gall'd by the spur, but stranger to the course, (The course where stakes of more than gold are won) O'er-loading, with the cares of distant age, The jaded spirits of the present hour, Provides for an eternity below.

"Thou shalt not covet," is a wise command; 460 But bounded to the wealth the Sun surveys: Look farther, the command stands quite revers'd, And avarice is a virtue most divine. Is faith a refuge for our happiness? Most sure: and is it not for reason too? Nothing this world unriddles, but the next. Whence inextinguishable thirst of gain? From inextinguishable life in man:

And falsely promises an Eden here:
Truth she shall speak for once, though prone to lie,
A common cheat, and pleasure is her nam.
To pleasure never was Lorenzo deaf;
Then hear her now, now first thy real friend.

480

490

Since Nature made us not more fond than proud Of happiness (whence hypocrites in joy! Makers of mirth! artificers of smiles!) Why should the joy most poignant sense affords Burn us with blushes, and rebuke our pride?Those heaven-born blushes tell us man descends, E'en in the zenith of his earthly bliss: Should reason take her infidel repose, This honest instinct speaks our lineage high; This instinct calls on darkness to conccal Our rapturous relation to the stalls. Our glory covers us with noble shame, And he that's unconfounded, is unmann'd. The man that blushes is not quite a brute. Thus far with thee, Lorenzo! will I close, Pleasure is good, and man for pleasure made; But pleasure full of glory, as of joy; Pleasure, which neither blushes, nor expires.

500

The witnesses are heard; the cause is o'er; Let conscience file the sentence in her court, Dearer than deeds that half a realm convey: Thus seal'd by truth, th' authentic record runs. "Know, all; know, infidels,-unapt to know! 'Tis immortality your nature solves; 'Tis immortality decyphers man,

510

And opens all the mysteries of his make.
Without it, half his instincts are a riddle;
Without it, all his virtues are a dream.
His very crimes attest his dignity;
His sateless thirst of pleasure, gold, and fame,
Declares bim born for blessings infinite:
What less than infinite makes un-absurd
Passions, which all on Earth but more inflames?
Fierce passions, so mis-measur'd to this scene,
Stretch'd out, like eagles' wings, beyond our nest,
Far, far beyond the worth of all below,
For Earth too large, presage a nobler flight,
And evidence our title to the skies.”

Ye gentle theologues, of calmer kind!
Whose constitution dictates to your pen,

520

Who, cold yourselves, think ardour comes from Hell!
Think not our passions from corruption sprung,
Though to corruption now they lend their wings;
That is their mistress, not their mother. All
(And justly) reason deems divine: I see,
I feel a grandeur, in the passions too,
Which speaks their high descent, and glorious end;
Which speaks them rays of an eternal fire. 530
In Paradise itself they burnt as strong,
Ere Adam fell, though wiser in their aim.
Like the proud Eastern, struck by Providence,
What though our passions are run mad, and stoop
With low, terrestrial appetite, to graze

On trash, on toys, dethron'd from high desire?
Yet still through their disgrace, no feeble ray
Of greatness shines, and tells us whence they fell:
But these (like that fall'n monarch when reclaim'd),
When reason moderates the rein aright,
Shall re-ascend, remount their former sphere,
Where once they soar'd illustrious; ere seduc'd
By wanton Eve's debauch, to stroll on Earth,
And set the sublunary world on fire.

540

But grant their phrensy lasts; their phrensy fails To disappoint one providential end,

For which Heaven blew up ardour in our hearts:

Were reason silent, boundless passion speaks
A future scene of boundless objects too,
And brings glad tidings of eternal day.
Eternal day! 'Tis that enlightens all;
And all, by that enlighten'd, proves it sure.
Consider man as an immortal being,
Intelligible all; and all is great;

A crystalline transparency prevails,

And wretched; reason weeps at the survey.

The learn'd Lorenzo cries, "And let her weep, Weak modern reason: antient times were wise. 560 Authority, that venerable guide,

Stands on my part; the fam'd Athenian porch
(And who for wisdom so renown'd as they?)
Denied this immortality to man."

I grant it; but affirm, they prov'd it too.
A riddle this!-Have patience; I'll explain.

570

580

What noble vanities, what moral flights, Glittering through their romantic wisdom's page, Make us, at once, despise them, and admire? Fable is flat to these high-season'd sires; They leave th' extravagance of song below. "Flesh shall not feel; or, feeling, shall enjoy The dagger or the rack; to them, alike A bed of roses, or the burning bull.” In men exploding all beyond the grave, Strange doctrine, this! As doctrine, it was strange; But not, as prophecy; for such it prov'd, And, to their own amazement, was fulfill'd: They feign'd a firmness Christians need not feign. The Christian truly triumph'd in the flame: The Stoic saw, in double woader lost, Wonder at them, and wonder at himself, To find the bold adventures of his thought, Not bold, and that he strove to lie in vain. Whence, then, those thoughts? those towering thoughts, that flew [pride. Such monstrous heights?-From instinct, and from The glorious instinct of a deathless soul, Confus'dly conscious of her dignity, Suggested truths they could not understand. In lust's dominion, and in passion's storm, Truth's system broken, scatter'd fragments lay, As light in chaos, glimmering through the gloom: Smit with the pomp of lofty sentiments, Pleas'd pride proclaim'd, what reason disbeliev'd. Pride, like the Delphic priestess, with a swell, Rav'd nonsense, destin'd to be future sense, When life immortal, in full day, should shine; And Death's dark shadows fly the gospel sun. They spoke, what nothing but immortal souls Could speak; and thus the truth they question'd, prov'd.

590

600

Can then absurdities, as well as crimes, Speak man immortal? All things speak him so. Much has been urg'd: and dost thou call for more? Call; and with endless questions be distress'd, All unresolvable, if Earth is all.

Why life, a moment; infinite, desire? Our wish, eternity? Our home, the grave? Heaven's promise dormant lies in human hope; Who wishes life immortal, proves it too. Why happiness pursued, though never found? 610 Man's thirst of happiness declares it is (For Nature never gravitates to naught); That thirst unquench'd declares it is not here. My Lucia, thy Clarissa, call to thought; Why cordial friendship riveted so drep,

630

'T were well his Holiness were half as sure.
Reason with inclination, why at war?
Why sense of guilt? why conscience up in arms?"
Conscience of guilt, is prophecy of pain,
And bosom-council to decline the blow.
Reason with inclination ne'er had jarr'd,
If nothing future paid forbearance here:
Thus on These, and a thousand pleas uncall'd,
All promise, some ensure, a second scene;
Which, were it doubtful, would be dearer far
Than all things else most certain; were it false,
What truth on Farth so precious as the lie?
This world it gives us, let what will ensue ;
This world it gives, in that high cordial, hope:
The future of the present is the soul:
How this life groans, when sever'd from the next!
Poor mutilated wretch, that disbelieves !
By dark distrust his being cut in two,
In both parts perishes; life void of joy,
Sad prelude of eternity in pain!

641

Couldst thou persuade me, the next life could fail Our ardent wishes; how should I pour out My bleeding heart in anguish, new, as deep! Oh! with what thoughts, thy hope, and my despair, Abhorr'd annihilation blasts the soul,

And wide extends the bounds of human woe! 650
Could I believe Lorenzo's system true,

In this black channel would my ravings run.
"Grief from the future borrow'd peace, ere while.
The future vanish'd! and the present pain'd !
Strange import of unprecedented ill !
Fall, how profound! Like Lucifer's, the fall!
Unequal fate! His fall, without his guilt!
From where fond hope built her pavilion high,
The gods among, hurl'd headlong, hurl'd at once
To night! To nothing, darker still than night! 660
If 't was a dream, why wake me, my worst foe,
Lorenzo! boastful of the name of friend!

O for delusion! Or for errour still!
Could vengeance strike much stronger than to plant
A thinking being in a world like this,
Not over-rich before, now beggar'd quite;
More curst than at the fall?-The Sun goes out!
The thorns shoot up! What thorns in every thought!
Why sense of better? It imbitters worse.
Why sense? why life? If but to sigh, then sink 670
To what I was! twice nothing! and much woe!
Woe, from Heaven's bounties! woe from what was
To flatter most, high intellectual powers. [wont
Thought, virtue, knowledge! blessings, by thy scheme,
All poison'd into pains. First, knowledge, once
My soul's ambition, now her greatest dread.
To know myself, true wisdom?—No, to shun
That shocking science, parent of despair!
Avert thy mirror: if I see, I die.

"Know my Creator? Climb his blest abode 680
By painful speculation, pierce the veil,
Dive in his nature, read his attributes,
And gaze in admiration-on a foe,
Obtruding life, withholding happiness!
From the full rivers that surround his throne,

So soon to perish, and revive no more?
The greater such a joy, the more it pains.
A world, so far from great (and yet how great
It shines to thee!) there's nothing real in it;
Being, a shadow; consciousness, a dream;
A dream, how dreadful! Universal blank
Before it, and behind! Poor man, a spark
From non-existence struck by wrath divine,
Glittering a moment, nor that moment sure,
'Midst upper, nether, and surrounding night,
His sad, sure, sudden, and eternal tomb!

Lorenzo! dost thou feel these arguments?
Or is there naught but vengeance can be felt?
How hast thou dar'd the Deity dethrone?
How dar'd indict him of a world like this?
If such the world, creation was a crime;
For what is crime but cause of misery'
Retract, blasphemer! and unriddle this,
Of endless arguments above, below,

Without us, and within, the short result

960

970

One obvious, and at hand, and, oh!-at heart. 980
So just the skies, Philander's life so pain'd,
His heart so pure; that, or succeeding scenes
Have palms to give, or ne'er had he been born.
"What an old tale is this ! Lorenzo cries.-
I grant this argument is old; but truth
No years impair; and had not this been true,
Thou never hadst despis'd it for its age.
Truth is immortal as thy soul; and fable
As fleeting as thy joys: be wise, nor make
Heaven's highest blessing, vengeance; O be wise!
Nor make a curse of immortality.

990

Say, know'st thou what it is, or what thou art? Know'st thou th' importance of a soul immortal? Behold this midnight glory: worlds on worlds! Amazing pomp! redouble this amaze;

Ten thousand add; add twice ten thousand more;
Then weigh the whole: one soul outweighs them all;
And calls th' astonishing magnificence
Of unintelligent creation poor.

For this, believe not me; no man believe; 1000
Trust not in words, but deeds; and deeds no less
Than those of the Supreme; nor his, a few;
Consult them all; consulted, all proclaim
Thy soul's importance: tremble at thyself;
For whom Omnipotence has wak'd so long:
Has wak'd, and work'd, for ages; from the birth
Of Nature to this unbelieving hour.

In this small province of his vast domain
(All Nature bow, while I pronounce his name!)
What has God done, and not for this sole end, 1010
To rescue souls from death! The soul's high price
Is writ in all the conduct of the skies.

The soul's high price is the Creation's key,
Unlocks its mysteries, and naked lays
The genuine cause of every deed divine:
That is the chain of ages, which maintains
Their obvious correspondence, and unites
Most distant periods in one blest design:

This flux, to permanent; this dark, to day;
This foul, to pure; this turbid, to serene;
This mean, to mighty !-for this glorious end
Th' Almighty, rising, his long sabbath broke! 1030
The world was made; was ruin'd; was restor'd;
Laws from the skies were publish'd; were repeal'd;
On Earth kings, kingdoms, rose; kings, kingdoms,
fell;

Fam'd sages lighted up the pagan world;
Prophets from Sion darted a keen glance
Through distant age; saints travel'd; martyrs bled;
By wonders sacred Nature stood control'd;
The living were translated; dead were rais'd;
Angels, and more than angels, came from Heaven;
And, oh! for this, descended lower still: 104C
Guilt was Hell's gloom; astonish'd at his guest,
For one short moment Lucifer ador'd:
Lorenzo! and wilt thou do less?-For this,
That hallow'd page, fools scoff at, was inspir'd,
Of all these truths-thrice venerable code!
Deists! perform your quarantine; and then
Fall prostrate, ere you touch it, lest you die.
Nor less intensely bent infernal powers
To mar, than those of light, this end to gain.
O what a scene is here!--Lorenzo! wake!
Rise to the thought; exert, expand thy soul,
To take the vast idea: it denies

1050

All else the name of great. Two warring worlds!
Not Europe against Afric; warring worlds!
Of more than mortal! mounted on the wing!
On ardent wings of energy and zeal,
High-hovering o'er this little brand of strife!
This sublunary ball-But strife, for what?

In their own cause conflicting? No; in thine,
In man's. His single interest blows the flame; 1060
His the sole stake; his fate the trumpet sounds,
Which kindles war immortal. How it burns!
Tumultuous swarms of deities in arms!
Force, force opposing, till the waves run high,
And tempest Nature's universal sphere.
Such opposites eternal, steadfast. stern,
Such foes implacable, are good, and ill; [them.
Yet man, vain man, would mediate peace between
Think not this fiction, "There was war in Heaven,"
From Heaven's high crystal mountain, where it
bung,
1070

Th' Almighty's out-stretch'd arm took down his bow,
And shot his indignation at the deep:
Re-thunder'd Hell, and darted all her fires.
And seems the stake of little moment still?
And slumbers man, who singly caus'd the storm?
He sleeps. And art thou shock'd at mysteries?
The greatest, thou. How dreadful to reflect,
What ardour, care, and counsel mortals cause
In breasts divine! how little in their own!
Where-e'er I turn, how new proofs pour upon me!
How happily this wondrons view supports
My former argument! How strongly strikes
Immortal life's full demonstration, here!
Why this exertion? Why this strange regard
From Heaven's Omnipotent indulg'd to man?---
Because, in man, the glorious dreadful power,
Extremely to be pain'd, or blest, for ever.
Duration gives importance; swells the price.
An angel, if a creature of a day,

1081

What would he be? A trifle of no weight; 1090 Or stand, or fall; no matter which; he's gone. Because immortal, therefore is indulg'd

This strange regard of deities to dust.

Hence Heaven looks down on Earth with all her eyes: