To break the thock blind Nature cannot fhun,
And lands thought smoothly on the farther fhore.
Death's terror is the mountain FAITH removes ;
That mountain barrier between man and peace.
'Tis FAITH difarms deftruction, and abfolves
From ev'ry clamorous charge, the guiltlefs tomb.
Why difbelieve? Lorenzo! Reafon bids,
All-facred Reafon.'-Hold her facred ftill;
Nor fhalt thou want a rival in thy flame;
All-facred Reason! fource, and foul of all.
Demanding praife on earth, or earth above!
My heart is thine: deep in its inmost folds,
Live thou with life; live dearer of the two.
Wear I the bleffed crofs, by fortune ftampt
On paffive nature, before thought was born?
My birth's blind biggot! fir'd with LOCAL Zeal!
No; Reafon rebaptiz'd me when adult;
Weigh'd true and false in her impartial scale;
My heart became the covert of my head;
And made that choice, which once was but my fate,
On argument alone my faith is built:'
Reafon purfu'd is Faith; and, unpursu'd
Where proof invites, 'tis reason, then, no more:
And fuch our Proof, that, or our Faith is Right,
Or Reafon lies, and heav'n defign'd it Wrong:
Abfolve we this? what, then, is blafphemy?
Fond as we are, and juftly fond of Faith,
Reason, we grant, demands our first regard;
The mother honour'd, as the daughter dear;
Reafon the root, fair Faith is but the flower;
The fading flow'r fhall die; but Reafon lives
Immortal, as her father in the skies.
When Faith is virtue, Reafon makes it fo. Wrong not the Chriftian; think not reafon YOURS; 'Tis Reafon our great Mafter holds fo dear; 'Tis Reafon's injur'd rights his wrath refents; "Tis Reafon's voice obey'd his glories crown; To give loft Reafon life, he pour'd his own: Believe, and fhew the reafon of a man: Believe, and tafte the pleasure of a God; Believe, and look with triumph on the tomb: Thro' Reafon's wounds alone, thy Faith can die;
Which dying, tenfold terror gives to death,
And dips in VENOM his twice-mortal fting,
Learn hence what honours, what loud Peans due
To thofe, who push our Antidote afi. e;
Those boafted friends to Reason, and to MAN,
Whofe fatal love ftabs ev'ry joy and leaves
Death's terror heighten'd gnawing on his heart.
Thefe pompeous fons of Reafon idoliz'd,
And vilify'd, at once; of reason dead,
Then deify'd, as monarchs were of old,
What conduct plants proud laurels on their brow?
While Love of Truth thro' a 1 their camp refounds,
They draw PRIDE's curtain o'er the noon t de ray;
Spike up their inch of reason, on the point
Of philofophic wit, CALL'D argument;
And then, exulting in their taper, cry,
Behold the fun :' and, Indian-like, adore.
Talk they of MORALS? O thou bleeding Love!
Thou maker of NEW morals to mankind!
The GRAND morality is love of Thee.
As wife as Socrates, if fuch they were,
(Nor wi I they bate of that fublime renown)
As wife as Socrates, might justly stand
The defination of a modern fool.
A CHRISTIAN is the higheft ftile of man.
And is there, who the bieffed crofs wipes off
As a foul blot, from his dishonour'd brow?
If angels tremble, 'tis at fuch a fight:
The wretch they quit, defponding of their charge,
More ftruck with grief or wonder, who can tell?
Ye fold to fenfe! ye citizens of earth!
(For fuch alone the Christian banner fly)
Know ye how wife your choice, how great your gain?
Behold the picture of earth's happieft man:
He calls his wifh. it comes; he fends it back,
And fays, he call'd another; that arrives,
Meets the fame welcome; yet he ftill calls on;
"Till ONE calls him, who varies not his call,
But holds him fast, in chains of darkness bound,
''Till nature dies, and judgment fets him free;
A freedom, far less welcome than his chain,'
But grant man happy; grant him happy long;
Add to life's higheft prize her lateft hour;
That hour fo late, is nimble in approach,
That, like a poft, comes on in full career;
How fwift the thuttle flies, that weaves thy fhroud!
Where is the fable of thy former years?
Thrown down the gulph of time; as far from thee
As they had ne'er been thine; the day in hand,
Like a bird ftruggling to get loofe, is going;
Scarce now poffefs'd, fo fuddenly 'tis gone;
And each fwift moment fled, is death advanc'd
By ftrides as fwift: eternity is all;
And whofe eternity; who triumphs there?
Bathing for ever in the font of blifs!
For ever basking in the Deity!
Lorenzo! who?thy co fcience thall reply.
O give it leave to fpeak; 'twill speak ere long,
Thy leave unafkt: Lorenzo! hear it now,
While useful its advife, its accent mild.
By the great edict, the divine decree,
Truth is depofited with man's last Hour;
An honeft hour, and faithful to her trust;
Truth, eldest daughter of the Deity;
Truth, of his council, when he made the worlds;
Nor lefs, when he fhall judge the worlds he made;
Though filent long, and fleeping neʼer so sound,
Smother'd with errors, and oppreft with toys,
That heav'n-commifion'd hour no fooner calls,
But from her cavern in the foul's abyss,
Like him they fable under Ætna whelm'd,
The goddess burfts in thunder, and in flame;
Loudly convinces, and feverely pains.
Dark Demons I discharge, and Hydra-ftings;
The keen vibrrtions of bright TRUTH
Juft definition! though by fchools untaught.
Ye deaf to truth! perufe this parfon'd page,
And truft, for once, a prophet, and a priest;
Men may LIVE fools, but fools they cannot DIE."
RELAPS E.
To the RIGHT HONOURABLE the Earl of
ORENZO to recriminate is juft.
Fondness for fame is avarice of air.
giant the man is vain, who writes for praise.
Braife no man e'er deferv'd, who fought no more.
As juft my Secr nd Charge Igant the mufs
Has cften blafht at her degen'rate fons,
Retain'd by Senfe to plead her filthy caufe;
To raise the low, to magnify the mean,
And fubtilize the grofs into refin'd:
As if to magic numbers pow'rfal charm
Twas giv'n to make a Civit of their fang:
Obfcene, and fw eten ordure to prefume.
WIT, a true Pagan, deifies the brute,
And lifts our fwine enjoyments from the mire.
The f&t notorious, nor olfcure the caule.
We wear the chains of Pleasure, and of Pride;
Thefe fhare the man; and thefe diftra&t him too;
Draw diff'rent ways, and clash in their comma: ds.
Pide, like an eagle, builds among the ftars;
But Pleasure, lark-like, nefts upon the ground.
Joys fhar'd by brute creation, Pido refents;
Pleasure embraces; man would B01 H enjoy,
And both AT ONCE: a point how hard to gain!
But, what can't wit, when ftung by trong deåre ?
Wit deres attempt this arcuous enterprize.
Sine joys of Senfe can't life to Reason's tafte?
In fubtile Sophiftry's laborious forge,
WIT hammers out a reafon NEW, that ftoops
To fordid fcenes, and greets them with applause.
Wir calls the Graces the chafte zone to loose;
Nor lefs than a Plump God to fill the bowl.
A thousand phantoms, and a thousand spe.ls,
A thousand opiates fcatters, to delude,
To fafcinate, inebriate, lay asleep,
And the fool'd mind of man delightfully confound.
Thus that which fhock'd the Judgment, fhocks no more;
That which gave Pride offence, no more offends.
Pleasure and Pride, by nature mortal foes,
At war eternal, which in man fhall reign,
By wIT's addrefs, patch up a fatal peace,
And hand in hand lead on the rank debauch,
From rank, refin'd to delicate and gay,
ART, curfed art! wipes off th' indebted blush
From nature's cheek, and bronzes ev'ry shame.
Man fmiles in ruin, glories in his guilt,
And infamy ftands candidate for praife.
All writ by man in favour of the foul.
Thefe Senfual ethics far, in bulk, tranfcend.
The flow'rs of eloquence, profufely pour'd
O'er fpotted vice, fill half the letter'd world.
Can pow'rs of genius exorcife their page,
And confecrate enormities with fong?
But let not thefe inexpiable strains
Condemn the mufe that knows her dignity;
Nor meanly ftops at TIME, but holds the world
As 'tis, in nature's ample field, a point,
A point in her esteem; from whence to ftart,
And run the round of universal space,
To vifit being univerf I there,
And being's fource, that utmoft flight of mind!
Yet, fpite of this fo vaft circumference,
Well knows, but what is Moral, nought is Great.
Sing Syrens only? do not angels fing?
There is in Poefy a decent pride,
Which well becomes her when the speaks to Profe,
Her younger fifter; haply, not more wife.
Think't thou Lorenzo! to find paftimes here ?
No guilty paffion blown into a flame,
No foible flatter'd, dignity difgrac'd,
No fairy field of fiction all on flower,
No rainbow colours, HERE, or filken tale;
But folemn Counfels, images of awe,
Truths, which eternity lets f Il on man
With double weight, through thefe revolving spheres,
|