And all thy noble reparations sink
Into the sure-wrought mine of treacherous mor-

tality. Like Archimedes, honourably in vain, Thou hold’st out towns that must at last be ta'en, And thou thyself, their great defender, slain. Let's e'en compound, and for the present live, 'Tis all the ready-money Fate can give;

Unbend sometimes thy restless care,
And let thy friends so happy be

To' enjoy at once their health and thee: Some hours, at least, to thine own pleasures spare : Since the whole stock may soon exhausted be,

Bestow 't not all in charity.
Let Nature and let Art do what they please,
When all's done, Life is an incurable disease.


Oh, Life! thou Nothing's younger brother!
So like, that one might take one for the other !

What's somebody, or nobody?
In all the cobwebs of the schoolmen's trade,
We no such nice distinction woven see,

As 'tis “ to be,” or “ not to be.”
Dream of a shadow! a reflection made
From the false glories of the gay reflected bow

Is a more solid thing than thou. Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise

Up betwixt two eternities!

Yet canst nor wave nor wind sustain, But, broken and o’erwhelm'd, the endless oceans

meet again.

And with what rare inventions do we strive

Ourselves then to survive ?
Wise, subtle arts, and such as well befit

That Nothing, Man's no wit!
Some with vast costly tombs would purchase it,
And by the proofs of death pretend to live.

Here lies the great”—false marble! where? Nothing but small and sordid dust lies there.Some build enormous mountain-palaces,

The fools and architects to please;
A lasting life in well-hewn stone they rear:

So he, who on the Egyptian shore
Was slain so many

hundred Lives still (oh Life! most happy and most dear! Oh Life! that epicures envy to hear !) Lives in the dropping ruins of his amphitheatre.

years before,

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His father-in-law an higher place does claim
In the seraphic entity of fame;

He, since that toy his death, Does fillall mouths, and breathes in all men's breath. 'Tis true, the two immortal syllables remain ;

But, oh, ye learned men ! explain

What essence, what existence, this, What substance, what subsistence, what hypostaIn six poor letters is !

[sis, In those alone does the great Cæsar live,

'Tis all the conquer'd world could give.

We Poets, madder yet than all,
With a refined fantastic vanity,
Think we not only have, but give, eternity.

Fain would I see that prodigal,

Who his to-morrow would bestow, For all old Homer's life, e'er since he died, till now?

I LEAVE mortality, and things below:
I have no time in compliments to waste ;

Farewell to' ye all in haste,

For I am call’d to go.
A whirlwind bears-up my dull feet,
The officious clouds beneath them meet;
And lo! I mount, and lo!

How small the biggest parts of earth’s proud title
Where shall I find the noble British land ?
Lo; I at last a northern speck espy,

Which in the sea does lie,

And seems a grain o’the' sand !
For this will any sin, or bleed ?
Of civil wars is this the meed?

And is it this, alas! which we
(Oh irony of words!) do call Great Britanie ?
I pass by the arch'd magazines which hold
The' eternal stores of frost, and rain, and snow;

Dry and secure I go,

Nor shake with fear or cold :
Without affright or wonder
I meet clouds charged with thunder,

And lightnings, in my way,
Like harmless lambent fires about my temples play.
Now into' a gentle sea of rolling flame
I'm plunged, and still mount higher there,

As flames mount up through air:

So perfect, yet so tame,
So great, so pure, so bright a fire,
Was that unfortunate desire,

My faithful breast did cover, Then, when I was of late a wretched mortal lover. Through several orbs which one fair planet bear, Where I behold distinctly as I pass

The hints of Galileo's glass,

I touch at last the spangled sphere :
Here all the extended sky
Is but one galaxy,

"Tis all so bright and gay,
And the joint eyes of night make up a perfect day.
Where am I now? Angels, and God is here;
An unexhausted ocean of delight

Swallows my senses quite,

And drowns all What, or How, or Where ! Not Paul, who first did thither pass, And this great world's Columbus was,

The tyrannous pleasure could express. Oh, 'tis too much for man! but let it ne'er be less ! The mighty' Elijah mounted so on high, That second man who leap'd the ditch where all

The rest of mankind fall,

And went not downwards to the sky! With much of


and show (As conquering kings in triumph go)

Did he to heaven approach, [coach. And wondrous was his


and wondrous was his 'Twas gaudy all; and rich in every part

; Of essences, of gems; and spirit of gold

Was its substantial mould,

Drawn forth by chemic angels' art. Here with moon-beams 'twas silver'd bright, There double-gilt with the sun's light;

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And mystic shapes cut round in it, Figures that did transcend a vulgar angel's wit. The horses were of temper'd lightning made, Of all that in Heaven's beauteous pastures feed

The noblest, sprightful'st breed ;

And flaming manes their necks array’d:
They all were shod with diamond,
Not such as here are found,

But such light solid ones as shine
On the transparent rocks o'the Heaven-crystalline.

Thus mounted the great Prophet to the skies;
Astonish'd men, who oft had seen stars fall,

Or that which so they call,

Wonder'd from hence to see one rise. The soft clouds melted him

away ; The snow and frosts which in it lay

Awhile the sacred footsteps bore; The wheels and horses' hoofs hizzed as they pass’d

them o'er!

He pass'd by the’ moon and planets, and did fright All the worlds there which at this meteor gazed,

And their astrologers amazed

With the unexampled sight.
But where he stopp'd will ne'er be known,
Till Phønix Nature, aged grown,

To'a better thing do aspire,
And mount herself, like him, to' eternity in fire.

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