Is perfect wisdom, while mankind are fools,
And think a turf, or tomb-stone, covers all :
These find employment, and provide for sente
A richer pasture, and a larger range;

And sense by right divine ascends the throne,
When virtue's prize and prospect are no more :
Virtue no more we think the will of Heav'n.
Would Heav'n quite beggar virtue, if helov'd?

Has virtue charms ---I grant her heav'nly fair;
But if unportion'd, all will int'rest wed;
Though that our admiration, this our choice.
The virtues grow on immortality !

That root destroy'd, they wither and expire.
A Deity helier'd, will nought avail;
Rewards, and punishments, make God ador'd;
And hopes and fears give conscience all her pow'r.
As in the dying parent dies the child,

Virtue, with immortality, expires.
Who tells me he denies bis soul immortal,
Whate'er his boast, has told me, he's a knave.
His duty 'tis, to love himself alone;

Nor care, though mankind perish, if he smiles.
Who thinks ere long the man shall wholly die,
Is dead already; nought but brute survives.

And are there such ---Such candidates there are
For more than death; for utter loss of being,
Being, the basis of the Deity!

Ask you the cause ---The cause they will not tell;
Nor need they: Oh, the sorceries of sense!
They work this transformation on the soul,
Dismount her, like the serpent at the fall,

Dismount ter from her native wing (which soar'd
Ere-while ethereal heights) and throw her down,
To lick the dust, and crawl in such a thought.
Is it in words to paint you? O ye fall'n!
Fall'n from the wings of reason, and of hope!
Erect in stature prone in appetite !
Patrons of pleasure, posting into pain I
Lovers of argument, averse to sense!

Boasters of fliberty, fast bound in chains!

Lords of the wide creation, and the shame!

More senseless than th' irrationals you scorn!

More base than those you rule than those you pity,

Far more undone ! Oye most infamous

Of beings, from superior dignity!

Deepest in woe from means of boundless bliss;

Ye curst by blessings infinite! because
Mostly highly favoured, most profoundly lost!
Ye motley mass of contradiction strong!
And are you, too, convinced, your souls fly of
In exhalation soft, and die in air,

From the full flood of evidence against you?

J

咖

In the coarse drudgeries and sinks of sense,
Your souls have quite worn out the make of heav's,
By vice new-cast, and creatures of your own:
But though you can deform, you can't destroy;
To curse, not uncreate, is all your power.

191

Lorenzo, this black brotherhood renounce; Renounce St. Evremont and read St. Paul. Ere wrapt by miracle, by reason wing'd, His mounting mind made long abode in heav'n. This is free thinking, unconfin'd to parts, To send the soul on curious travel hent, Through all the provinces of human thought; To dart her flight through the whole sphere of man ; Of this vast universe to make the tour; In each recess of space, and time, at home; Familiar with their wonders; diving deep, And, like a prince of boundless int'rests there, Still most ambitious of the most remote; To look on truth unbroken, and entire; Truth in the system, the full orb; where truths By truths enlighten'd, and sustain'd, afford An arch-like strong foundation, to support Th'incumbent weight of absolute complete Conviction: here the more we press, we stand Parts, like half-sentences, confound: the whole Conveys the sense, and God is understood; Who not in fragments writes to human race: Read his whole volutue, Sceptio! then reply. This, this, is thinking free, a thought that grasps Beyond a grain, and looks beyond an hour. Turn up thine eye, survey this midnight scene; What are earth's kingdoms, to yon boundless orbs, Of human souls, one day, the destin'd range And what yon boundless orbs to godlike man? Those num'rous worlds that throng the firmament, And ask more space in heav'n, can roll at large man's capacious thought, and still leave room

For ampler orbs, for new creations, there.
Can such a soul contract itself, to gripe
A point of no dimension, of no weight?
It can it does: the world is such a point:
And, of that point, how small a part enslaves!
How small a part !---of nothing, shall ! say t
Why not?--Friends, our chief treasure! how they drop!
Lucia, Narcissa fair, Philander, gone!
The grave, like fabled Cerberus, has op'd
A triple mouth; and, in an awful voice,
Loud calls my soul, and utters all I sing..
How the world falls to pieces round about A,
And leaves us in a ruin of our joy!

What

Is perfect wisdom, while mankind are fools,
And think a turf, or tomb-stone, covers all :
These find employment, and provide for sente
A richer pasture, and a larger range;

And sense by right divine ascends the throne,
When virtue's prize and prospect are no more:
Virtue no more we think the will of Heav'n.
Would Heav'u quite beggar virtue, if helov'd!

Has virtue charms ---I grant her heav'nly fair;
But if unportion'd, all will int'rest wed;
Though that our admiration, this our choice.
The virtues grow on immortality!

That root destroy'd, they wither and expire.
A Deity helier'd, will nought avail;
Rewards, and punishments, make God ador'd;
And hopes and fears give conscience all her pow'r.
As in the dying parent dies the child,
Virtue, with immortality, expires.
Who tells me he denies bis soul immortal,
Whate'er his boast, has told me, he's a knare.
His duty 'tis, to love himself alone;

Nor care, though mankind perish, if he smiles.
Who thinks ere long the man shall wholly die,
Is dead already; nought but brute survives.

And are there such ---Such candidates there are For more than death; for utter loss of being, Being, the basis of the Deity!

Ask you the cause ---The cause they will not tell
Nor need they: Oh, the sorceries of sense!
They work this transformation on the soul,
Dismount her, like the serpent at the fall,
Dismount ter from her native wing (which soar'd
Ere-while ethereal heights) and throw her down,
To lick the dust, and crawl in such a thought.
Is it in words to paint you? O ye fall'n!
Fall'n from the wings of reason, and of hope!
Erect in stature prone in appetite!
Patrons of pleasure, posting into pain!
Lovers of argument, averse to sense!

Boasters of liberty, fast bound in chains!

Lords of the wide creation, and the shame!

More senseless than th' irrationals you scorn!

More base than those you rule! than those you pity, Far more undone ! Oye most infamous

Of beings, from superior dignity!

Deepest in woe from means of boundless bliss;
Ye curst by blessings infinite! because
Mostly highly favoured, most profoundly lost!
Ye motley mass of contradiction strong!
And are you, too, convinced, your souls By of
In exhalation soft, and die in air,

From the full flood of evidence against you.?

In the coarse drudgeries and sinks of sense,
Your souls have quite worn out the make of heav's,
By vice new-cast, and creatures of your own:
But though you can deform, you can't destroy;
To curse, not uncreate, is all your power.
Lorenzo, this black brotherhood renounce;
Renounce St. Evremont and read St. Paul.
Ere wrapt by miracle, by reason wing'd,
His mounting mind made long abode in heav'n.
This is free thinking, unconfin'd to parts,
To send the soul on curious travel bent,
Through all the provinces of human thought;
To dart ber flight through the whole sphere of man;
Of this vast universe to make the tour;

In each recess of space, and time, at home;
Familiar with their wonders; diving deep,
And, like a prince of boundless int'rests there,
Still most ambitious of the most remote ;
To look on truth unbroken, and entire ;
Truth in the system, the full orb; where truths
By truths enlighten'd, and sustain'd, afford
An arch-like strong foundation, to support
Th'incumbent weight of absolute complete
Conviction: here the more we press, we stand
More firm; who most examine most believe.
Parts, like half-sentences, confound: the whole
Conveys the sense, and God is understood;
Who not in fragments writes to human race
Read his whole volume, Sceptic! then reply.
This, this, is thinking free, a thought that grasps
Beyond a grain, and looks beyond an hour.
Turn up thine eye, survey this midnight scene;
What are earth's kingdoms, to yon boundless orès,
Of human souls, one day, the destin'd range!
And what yon boundless orbs to godlike man?
Those num'rous worlds that throng the Grmament,
And ask more space in heav'n, can roll at large
In man's capacious thought, and still leave room
Por ampler orbs, for new creations, there.
Can such a soul contract itself, to gripe
A point of no dimension, of no weight?
It can it does: the world is such a point:
And, of that point, how small a part enslaves!
How small a part of nothing, shall! say?
Why not--Friends, our chief treasure! how they drop!
Lucía, Narcissa fair, Philander, gone!
The grave, like fabled Cerberus, has op'd
A triple mouth; and, in an awful voice,
Loud calls my soul, and utters all I sing.
How the world falls to pieces round about sa,
And leaves us in a ruin of our joy!

What says this transportation of my friends!
An infidel writer.

E

It bids me love the place where now they dwell,
And scorn this wretched spot they leave so poor.
Eternity's vast ocean lies before thee;

There, there, Lorenzo thy Clarissa sails.
Give thy mind sea-room; keep it wide of earth,
That rock of souls immortal; cut thy cord;
Weigh anchor; spread thy sails; call ev'ry wind;
Eye thy great pole-star; make the land of life.
Two kinds of life has double-natur'd man,
And two of death; the last far more severe.
Life animal is nurtur'd by the sun;

Thrives on his bounties, triumphs in his beams.
Life rational subsists on higher food,

Triumphant in his beams who made the day,
When we leave that sun, and are left by this,
(the fate of all who die in stubborn guilt)
Tis utter darkness, strictly double death.
We sink by no judicial stroke of Heav'n,
But nature's course; as sure as plumbets fall.
Since God, or man, must alter, ere they meet,
(Since light and darkness blend not in one sphere)
'Tis manifest, Lorenzo! who must change.

If, then, that double death should prove thy lot, Blame not the bowels of the Deity:

Man shall he blest, as far as man permits.
Not man alone, all rationals, heav'n arms
With an illustrious, but tremendous pow'r
To counteract its own most gracious ends;
And this, of strict necessity, not choice ;
That pow'r, deny'd, men, angels, were no more
But passive engines, void of praise or blame.
A nature rational implies tha pow'r

Of being blest, or wretched, as we please;
Else idle reason would bare nought to do:
And he that would be barr'd capacity
Of pain, courts incapacity of bliss.

Heav'n wills or happiness, allows our doom;
Invites us ariently, but not compels ;

Heav'n but persuades, almighty man decrees;
Man is the maker of immortal fates,

Man falls by man, if finally he falls;

And fall he must, who learns from death alone,

The dreadful secret---That he lives for ever.

Why this to thee !---thee yet, perhaps, in doubt, Of second life? But wherefore doubtful still? Eternal life is Nature's ardent wish: What ardently we wish, we soon believe; Thy tardy faith declares that wish destroy'd! What has destroyed it ?---Shall I tell thee, what? When fear'd the future, 'tis no longer wish'd; And when unwish'd, we strive to disbelieve. Thus infide aly our guilt betrays.'