PREFACE.

S the occafion of this Poem was real, not ficti

tious; fo the method purfued in it, was rather impofed, by what fpontaneously arofe in the author's mind on that occafion, than meditated or defigned. Which will appear very probable from the nature of it. For it differs from the common mode of Poetry, which is, from long narrations to draw fhort morals. Here, on the contrary, the narrative is fhort, and the morality arifing from it makes the bulk of the Poem. The reafon of it is, That the facts mentioned did naturally pour thefe moral reflections on the thought of the writer.

THE

COMPLAINT.

NIGHT THE FIRST.

ON

LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY..

то

THE RIGHT HON. ARTHUR ONSLOW,

SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.

IR'D Nature's fweet reftorer, balmy Sleep!

TH

He, like the world, his ready vifit pays

Where Fortune smiles; the wretched he forfakes;
Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe,
And lights on lids unfullied with a tear.

From fhort (as usual) and disturb'd repose,

I wake: How happy they, who wake no more!
Yet that were vain, if dreams infeft the grave.
I wake, emerging from a fea of dreams

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Tumultuous; where my wreck'd defponding thought, 10 From wave to wave of fancied mifery,

At random drove, her helm of reafon loft.
Though now reftor'd, 'tis only change of pain,
(A bitter change!) feverer for severe.

The Day too short for my diftrefs; and Night,
Ev'n in the zenith of her dark domain,

Is funthine to the colour of my fate.

Night, fable goddess! from her ebon throne,
In rayless majesty, now stretches forth
Her leaden fceptre o'er a flumbering world.
Silence, how dead! and darkness, how profound !
Nor eye, nor liftening ear, an object finds;
Creation fleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse
Of life ftood still, and nature made a pause;

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An awful paufe! prophetic of her end.

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And let her prophecy be foon fulfill'd;

Fate! drop the curtain; I can lose no more.

Silence and Darkness! folemn fifters! twins

From ancient Night, who nurse the tender thought!
To Reafor, and on Reafon build Refolve,

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(That column of true majefty in man)

Affift me: I will thank you in the grave;

The grave, your kingdom: There this frame fhall fall

A victim sacred to your dreary shrine.

But what are ye?

Thou, who didft put to flight

Primæval Silence, when the morning stars,

Exulting, fhouted o'er the rifing ball;

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O Thou, whose word from solid darkness struck
That spark, the fun; ftrike wisdom from my foul; 40

My

My foul, which flies to Thee, her truft, her treasure,
As mifers to their gold, while others reft.

Through this opaque of Nature, and of Soul,
This double night, tranfmit one pitying ray,
To lighten, and to chear. O lead my mind,
(A mind that fain would wander from its woe)
Lead it through various scenes of Life and Death;
And from each fcene, the nobleft truths infpire.
Nor lefs infpire my Conduct, than my Song;
Teach my best reafon, reason; my best will
Teach rectitude; and fix my firm resolve
Wisdom to wed, and pay her long arrear :
Nor let the phial of thy vengeance, pour'd
On this devoted head, be pour'd in vain.

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The bell ftrikes One. We take no note of time 55 But from its lofs. To give it then a tongue,

Is wife in man.

As if an angel spoke,

I feel the folemn found. If heard aright,

It is the knell of my departed hours:

Where are they? With the years beyond the flood. 60

It is the signal that demands dispatch:

How much is to be done? My hopes and fears
Start up alarm'd, and o'er life's narrow verge
Look down-On what? a fathomless abyss;
A dread eternity! how furely mine!
And can eternity belong to me,

Poor penfioner on the bounties of an hour?
How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,
How complicate, how wonderful, is man!
How paffing wonder He, who made him such!

B 3

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Who