ARTHUR ONSLOW, Efq;

SPEAKER of the Houfe of Commons.

A 2

PREFACE.

S the occafion of this Poem was real, not fictitious;: fo the method pursued 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 probably from the nature of it. For it differs from the common mode of Poetry, which is from long narrations to draw short morals. Here, on the contrary, the narrative is short, 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 wri-

ter.

THE

COMPLAINT.

NIGHT THE FIRST.

On LIFE, DEATH, and IMMORTALITY,

T

IR'D Nature's fweet reftorer, balmy Sleep! He, like the world, his ready vifit pays Where Fortune fmiles: the wretched he forSwift on his downy pinion flies from woe, And lights on lids unfully'd with a tear.

[fakes;

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 Tumultuous; where my wreck'd, defponding thought, From wave to wave of fancy'd milery,

At random drove, her helm of reason lost ;
Though now reflor'd, 'tis only change of pain,
(A bitter change!) feverer for fevere :

The Day too fhort for my diftrefs! and Night,
Even in the Zenith of her dark domain,
Is funfhine to the colour of my fate.

Night, fable goddess! from her ebon throne,
In raylefs majesty, now stretches forth
Her leaden (cepter o'er a flumb'ring world.
Silence, how dead! and darkness, how profound!
Nor eye, nor lift'ning ear an object finds :
Creation fleeps. 'Tis as the general pulfe
Of life ftood still, and Nature made a paufe.;
An awful paufe! prophetic of her end.
And let her prophecy be foon fulfill'd;
Fate drop the curtain; I can lofe no more.
Silence, and Darkness! folemn fifters.! twint
From ancient Night, who nurse the tender tho

To Reafon, and on Reason build Refolve, (That column of true majefly in man), Affift me: I will thank you in the grave;

The grave, your kingdom: there this frame fhall fall A victim facred to your dreary Thrine.

But what are ye?

THOU, who didst put to flight

Primeval Silence, when the morning-stars
Exulting, fhouted o'er the rifing ball;

O THOU! whofe word from folid Darkness ftruck
That Ipark, the sun; strike wisdom from my foul;
My foul which flies to thee, her truft, her treafure,
As mifers to their gold, while others reft.

Through this opaque of nature, and of foul,
This double night, tranfinit 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 fcenes of life and death;
And from each fcene the nobleft truths infpire.
Nor lefs infpire my conduct, than my fong;
Teach my best reason, reason; my best will,
Teach rectitude; and fix my firm refolve
Wisdom to wed, and pay her long arrear.
Nor let the vial of thy, vengeance, pour'd
On this devoted head, be pour'd in vain.

The bell ftrikes One. We take no note of time,
But from its lofs. To give it then a tongue,
Is wife in man. As if an angel fpoke,

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,
It is the Jignal that demands difpatch;

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 fathomlets abyfs;
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?
Ho patling wonder H E, who made him fuch,

no center'd in our make fuch strange extremes?

1

From different natures, marvellously mixt,
"Connection exquifite of diftant worlds!
'Diftinguifh'd link in being's endless chain !
Midway from nothing to the Deity!
A beam etherial, fully'd and abforbt!
Though fully'd and difhonour'd, ftill divine!
Dim miniature of greatness abfolute !
An heir of glory! a frail child of duft!
Helplefs immortal! infect infinite!

A worm! a god!I tremble at myself,
And in myself am loft! at home a ftranger,
Thought wanders up and down, furpriz'd, aghaft,
And wond'ring at her own: how reason reels!
O what a miracle to man is man,

Triumphantly diftrefs'd! what joy, what dread!
Alternately transported, and alarm'd !

What can preferve my life? or what destroy?
An angel's arm can't fnatch me from the grave;
Legions of angels can't confine me there.

'Tis paft conjecture; all things rife in proof:
While o'er my limbs Sleep's foft dominion's spread,
What tho my foul phantaftic meafures trod
O'er fairy fields; or mourn'd along the gloom
Of pathlefs woods; or, down the craggy steep
Hurl'd headlong, fwam with pain the mantled pool;
Or fcal'd the cliff; or danc'd on hollow winds,
With antic fhapes, wild natives of the brain?
Her ceafelefs flight, though devious, fpeaks her nature
Of fubtler effence than the trodden clod;
Active, aëreal, towering, unconfin'd,
Unfetter'd with her grots companion's fall.
Ev'n filent night proclaims my foul inmortal:
Ev'n filent night proclaims eternal day.
For human weal heav'n hufbands all events,
Dull fleep inftructs, nor fport vain dreams in vain.
Why then their lofs deplore, that are not loft?
Why wanders wretched thought their tombs around,
In infidel diftrefs? Are angels there?

Slumbers, rak'd up in duft, ethereal fire?
They live! they greatly live a life on earth
Unkindled, unconceiv'd; and from an eye
Of tenderness, let heav'nly pity fall