OTreacherous Conscience! while she seems to sleep, On Rofe and Myrtle, lull'd with Syren Song; While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop On headlong Appetite, the flackned rein,
And give us up to Licence, unrecall'd,
Unmarkt ;----As from behind her fecret ftand,
The fly Informer minutes every Fault,
And her dread Diary with Horror fills:
Not the grofs Act alone employs her Pen;
She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band,
A watchful Foe! The formidable Spy,
Lift'ning o'erhears the Whispers of our Camp;
Our dawning Purposes of Heart explores,
And steals our Embryos of Iniquity.
As all-rapacious. Ufurers conceal
Their Doomsday-book from all-confuming Heirs;
Thus, with Indulgence moft fevere, She treats
Us, Spendthrifts of ineftimable Time ;
Unnoted, notes each Moment mifapply'd;
In leaves more durable than leaves of Brafs,
Writes our whole hiftory; which Death fhall read
In every pale Delinquent's private Ear;
And Judgment publish; Publish to more worlds
Than this; and endless Age in groans refound.
Lorenzo, fuch that Sleeper in thy Breast!
Such is her Slumber; and her Vengeance fuch
For flighted Counfel; fuch thy future Peace!
And think'ft thou still thou canst be wife too foon?
But why on Time fo lavish is my Song? On this great Theme kind Nature keeps a School,
To teach her Sons Herfelf.
Each Night we Dye,
Each Day, a Life!
And shall we kill each Day? If Trifling kills: Sure Vice must butcher. O what heaps of flain Cry out for Vengeance on us? Time destroy'd Is Suicide, where more than Blood is fpilt.
Time flies, Death urges, Knells call, Heaven invites,
Hell threatens; All exerts; in Effort, All;
More than Creation labours !----Labours more?
And is there in Creation, What, amidst
This Tumult Univerfal, wing'd Dispatch,
And ardent Energy, fupinely yawns ?----
Man fleeps; and Man alone; and Man, whofe Fate,
Fate irreversible, entire, extreme,
Endless, hair-hung, breeze-fhaken, o'er the Gulph
A moment trembles; drops: and Man, for whom
All elfe is in alarm: Man, the fole Cause
Of this furrounding Storm! and yet he fleeps,
As the Storm rock'd to reft.---Throw Years away?
Throw Empires, and be blameless. Moments feize,
Heaven's on their Wing: a Moment we may wish
When Worlds want Wealth to buy. Bid Day ftand
Bid him drive back his Carr, recall, retake
Fate's hafty prey; Implore him, reimport
The Period paft; regive the given Hour.
Lorenzo, more than Miracles we want:
Lorenzo-----O for Yesterdays to come!
Such is the Language of the Man awake ;
His Ardor fuch, for what oppresses Thee:
And is his Ardor vain? Lorenzo! No:
That more than Miracle the Gods indulge:
To-day is Yesterday return'd; return'd
Full-power'd to cancel, expiate, raise, adorn,
And reinstate us on the Rock of Peace.
Let it not fhare its Predeceffor's Fate ;
Nor, like its elder Sifters, die a Fool.
Shall it evaporate in Fume? Fly off
Fuliginous, and stain us deeper ftill?
Shall we be poorer for the Plenty pour'd?
More wretched for the Clemencies of Heaven?
Where shall I find Him? Angels! tell me where, You know Him; He is near you; Point him out;
Shall I fee Glories beaming from his Brow?
Or trace his Footsteps by the rifing Flow'rs?
Your golden Wings, now hov'ring o'er him shed
Protection; now, are waving in Applause
To that bleft Son of Forefight! Lord of Fate!
That awful Independent on To-morrow!
Whofe Work is done; who triumphs in the Paft;
Whofe Yesterdays look backwards with a Smile;
Nor like the Parthian wound him as they fly;
That common, but opprobrious Lot! Paft Hours
If not by Guilt, yet wound us by their Flight,
If Folly bounds our Profpect by the Grave;
All feeling of Futurity benumb'd;
All God-like Paffion for Eternals quencht;
All relish of Realities expir'd;
Renounc'd all Correfpondence with the Skies;
Our Freedom chain'd; quite wingless our Defire;
In Sense dark-prison'd All that ought to foar,
Prone to the Center, crawling in the Duft;
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