Refembles Ocean into tempeft wraggie, To waft a feather or to drown a fy, Where falls this cenfue› E How was my heart incrafted by the O how felf-fetter'd was my primúels How like a worm was I In filken thought, with repric Fire Till darken'd Reafon at With foft conceit of encicd comfor
Nor yet put forth her wings a Night-visions may be Our Waking dreams are fata z Of things impoffible
Or joys perpetual in perpetual mace Of table pleafares on the mo Eternal funthine in the form f How richly were my 12 With gorgeous teftes fuer Joy behind py, in elefa Till at deart's mil, weft etiaf.
Calls daily for his millions at : crea
Starting I woke and found
The Cobweb'd outage with 174
More mortal than
Exco Moment has fre
Is all befide? the common lot; has fate entail'd Il of woman born, an fure heirs of Pain. cano, ftorm, and fire, n, with her heart befiege mankind: of day,
orgets a fun was made; o their haughty lord, ling oar for life;
wave, and reap despair : broken under arms, h half their limbs,
realms their valour fav'd, minion, doom: ifeafe, (fell pair!) remorfelefs feize efuge of the grave: Is eject their dead?
or fad admiffion there? 1 Fortune's lap high-fed, of charity?
icit it in vain!
afures! fince in pains I vifits, vifit Here,
ar debauch: Give, and reduce er you: but fo great
u blush at what is right! w feize on Such alone: fend, nor Virtue fave; chafteft temperance; e guiltless; and alarm es purfues the fond of peace, 1 into danger turns,
ing, crushes him to death. elf makes good her name; ive us not our with.
he thing we doat on moft, ich we doat, Felicity? urfe of nature has its pains,
They live they greatly live a life Unkindl'd, unconceiv'd; and from Of tenderness, let heav'nly pity fall On me, more jufly number'd with This is the defart, This the folitude How populous! how vital, is the g This is creation's melancholy vault, The vale funeral, the fad Cypress & The land of apparitions, empty sha All, all on earth is Shadow, all bey Is Substance; the reverfe is folly's How folid all, where change fhall |
This is the bud of being, the din The twilight of our day, the vestib Life's theatre as yet is fhut, and de Strong death alone can heave the m This grofs impediment of clay ren And make us embryos of existence From Real life, but little more rei Is He, not yet a candidate for ligh The Future embryo, flumbering i Embryos we must be, till we buri Yon ambient, azure shell, and fpi The life of gods ; O tranfport! a
Yet man, fool man! Here buri Inters celeftial hopes without one Prifoner of earth and pent beneath Here pinions all his wishes; win To fly an infinite; and reach it th Where Seraphs gather immortalit
What golden joys ambrofial cluft'r ach, hết ngete so budy in my pe On life's fair tree, faft by the thru ! may caught så tray j
In His full beam, and ripen for se sack poden dimengelaps
Where momentary ages are no m Where time and pain, and chanc And is it in the flight of threefce To push eternity from human the And fmother fouls immortal in th A foul immortal spending all her Wafting her ftrength in ftrenuous Thrown into tumult, raptur'd, At aught this scene can threaten,
On Live, Dista, m?
Refembles Ocean into get To waft a fearberr
Where falls this ceri prelim How was my bear intraday. / ban fel-even't vy """ How like a worm was I-- - In flken thought, with regra Till darken'd Reafs are 2 With foft cancer of encef
Not yet put forth her w Night-visions may been
Our Waking dreams are fea Of things impoffible
joys perpetual in perpenal
Of table pleafores on her
External funthine in the forms of **
How richly were my
With gorges after of pers
and IMMORTALITY. gels all befide?
is the common lot; at, has fate entail'd all of woman born, than fure heirs of Pain. olcano, ftorm, and fire, ffion, with her heart s, befiege mankind: ed of day,
Joy behind pry, in endliefs et » Till a deck's all, wife the g Calls daily for his millions
Starting I woke and front
forgets a fun was made; s to their haughty lord, galling oar for life; 's wave, and reap despair : broken under arms, with half their limbs,
The Cobwe'd cotage was gent val
Of mould ring mad, is Royalty The Spider's armuted treat As and, is catie, to moveme On earthly elifs; ir breaks at ever
Ore blet fcenes of Permanen
igh realms their valour fav'd, is minion, doom:
Difeafe, (fell pair!) es remorfelefs feize a refuge of the grave: itals eject their dead?
I for fad admiffion there? e in Fortune's lap high-fed, nd of charity?
ollicit it in vain!
leafures! fince in pains ifh vifits, vifit Here,
your debauch: Give, and reduce
o'er you: but fo great
you blush at what is right!
row feize on Such alone:
defend, nor Virtue fave; he chasteft temperance; the guiltlefs; and alarm ades purfues the fond of peace, ten into danger turns,
alling, crushes him to death. itself makes good her name;
give us not our with.
t the thing we doat on moft, which we doat, Felicity? courfe of nature has its pains,
Strikes empires from the root; each Moment plays His little weapon in the narrower sphere
Of sweet domeftic comfort, and cuts down
The fairest bloom of fublunary blifs.
Blifs! fublunary blifs !-proud words! and vain: Implicit treafon to divine decree !
A bold invafion of the rights of heaven!
I clafp'd the phantoms, and I found them air. O had I weigh'd it e'er my fond embrace! What darts of agony had mifs'd my heart?
Death! Great proprietor of all! 'tis thine To tread out empire, and to quench the stars. The fun himself by thy permiffion fhines, And, one day, thou shalt pluck him from his sphere. Amid fuch mighty plunder, why exhaust Thy Partial quiver on a mark fo Mean? Why thy Peculiar rancour wreck'd on Me? Infatiate archer ! could not One fuffice?
Thy fhaft flew Thrice; and Thrice my peace was flain; And thrice, e'er thrice yon moon had fill'd her horn. O Cynthia! why fo pale? Doft thou lament Thy wretched neighbour? Grieve, to fee thy wheel Of ceafelefs change outwhirl'd in human life? How wanes my Borrow'd blifs! from Fortune's fmile, Precarious courtesy! not Virtue's fure, Self-given, Solar, ray of found delight.
In every vary'd pofture, place, and hour,
How widow'd every thought of every joy!
Thought, bufy thought! too busy for my peace, Thro' the dark postern of time long elaps'd,
Led foftly, by the stillness of the night, Led, like a murderer, (and fuch it proves !) Strays (wretched rover !) o'er the pleafing Paft; In queft of wretchedness perverfely ftrays; And finds all defart Now; and meets the ghofts Of my departed joys, a numerous train ! I rue the riches of my former fate; Sweet comforts blafted clufters I lament; I tremble at the bleffings once fo dear; And every pleasure pains me to the heart.
Yet why Complain? or why complain for one? Hangs out the fun his luftre but for me,
The Single man? are angels all befide? I mourn for millions: 'tis the common lot In This fhape, or in That, has fate entail'd The mother's throws on all of woman born, Not more the children, than fure heirs of Pain. War, famine, peft, volcano, ftorm, and fire, Inteftine broils, Oppreffion, with her heart Wrapt up in triple brafs, befiege mankind: God's image difinherited of day,
Here plung'd in mines, forgets a fun was made; There, beings deathlefs to their haughty lord, Are hammer'd to the galling oar for life; And plough the winter's wave, and reap despair: Some for hard mafters, broken under arms, In battle lopt away, with half their limbs, Beg bitter bread through realms their valour fav'd, If fo the tyrant, or his minion, doom: Want, and incurable Disease, (fell pair!) On hopeless multitudes remorfelefs feize At once; and make a refuge of the grave: How groaning Hofpitals eject their dead? What numbers groan for fad admiffion there? What numbers, once in Fortune's lap high-fed, Sollicit the cold hand of charity?
To fhock us more, follicit it in vain! Ye filken fons of pleasures! fince in pains You rue more modifh vifits, vifit Here,
And breath from your debauch: Give, and reduce Surfeit's dominion o'er you: but fo great Your impudence, you blush at what is right! Happy! did forrow feize on Such alone: Not Prudence can defend, nor Virtue fave; Disease invades the chafteft temperance; And punishment the guiltlefs; and alarm Thro' thickeft fhades pursues the fond of peace, Man's caution often into danger turns, And his guard falling, crushes him to death. Not Happiness itself makes good her name; Our very wishes give us not our wish. How diftant oft the thing we doat on moft, From that for which we doat, Felicity? The Smootheft courfe of nature has its pains,
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