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16 Too much for Heav'n to make one Emmet more? « Too much for Chaos to permit my Mass * A longer Stay with Essences unwrought, « Unfashion'd, untormented into Man? “ Wretched Preferment to this Round of Pains ! • Wretched Capacity of Frenzy, Thought! “ Wretched Capacity of Dying, Life!

Life, Thought, Worth, Wisdom, All (Oh foul Revoli ?) « Once Friends to Peace, gone over to the Foe.

Death, then, has chang'dits Nature too:( Death!) '• Come to my Bosom, Thoa best Gift of Heav'n! 66 Best Friend of Man! Since Man is Man no more, “ Why in this thorny Wilderness so long, “ Since there's no Promis'd Land's ambrosial Bow'r, To pay me with its Honey for my Stings? is If needful to the selfish Schemes of Heav'n “ To fting us fore, why mockt our Misery? " Why this fo fumptuous Infalt o'er our Heads? " Why this Illustrious Canopy display'd? " Why so magnificently lodg'd Depair ? “ At stated Periods, fure-returning, rowl “ These glorious Orbs, that Mortals may compute “ Their Length of Labours, and of Pains ; por lose • Their Misery's full Measure !-Smiles with Flow'rs;

And Fruits promiscuous, ever-teeming Earth, “ That Man may languish in luxurious Scenes, « And in an Eden mourn his with’ring Joys? “ Claim Earth and Skies Man's Admiration, due " For such Delights! Bleft Animals I too Wiso “ To wonder ; and too Happy to complain!

“ Our Doom decreed demands a mournful Scenco " Why not a Dungeon dark, for the Condemn'd? Why not the Dragon's subterranean Den, " For Man to howl inWhy not his Abode, es. Of the same dismal Colour with his Fate ? * A Thebes, a Babylon, at valt Expence

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• Of Time, Toil, Treasure, Art, for Owls and Addera, “ As congruous, as, for Man, this lofty Dome, " Which prompts proud Thought, and kindles high

“ Desire, " If from her humble Chamber in the Dust, " While proud Thought swells, and high Defire in

“ flames, “ The poor Worm calls us for her Inmates there ; “ And, round us, Death's inexorable Hand • Draws the dark Curtain close ; undrawn no more.

Undrawn no more? Behind the Cloud of Deaths Once, I beheld a Sun; a Sun which gilt " That fable Cloud, and turn'd it all to Gold; “ How the Grave's aiter'd ? Fathomless, as Hell! « A real Hell to Those, who dreamt of Heav'n. “ ANNIHILATION ! How it yawns before me? “ Next Moment I may drop from Thought, from Senfi, The Privilege of Angels, and of Worms, “ An Outcast from Existence !. And this Spirit,, • This all-pervading, this all-conscious Soul, “ This Particle of Energy divine, “ Which travels Nature, flies from Star to Star,

And visits Gods, and emulates their Pow'rs, For ever is extinguisht, Horror! Death! ** Death of that Death I fearless, once, survey'd. " When Horror Universal frall descend,

And Heav'n's dark Concave urn all Human Race, « On that enormous, unrefunding Tomb, " How just this Verse ? this monumental Sigh!

Beneath the Lumber of demolisht Worlds,
Deep in the Rubbish of the gen'ral Wreck,
Swept Ignominious to the common Mass
of Matter, niver dignify'd with Life,
Here lie proud Rationals ; The Sons of Heav'n !
The Lords of Earth ; The Property of Worms !:
Beings of refterday, and no To-morrow!


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Who liv'd in Terror, and in Pangs expir'd!

to rot in Chaos ; or, to make
Their happy Transit into Blocks, or Brutes;

Nor longer sully their CREA Tor's Name. LORENZO! hear, pause, ponder, and pronounce." Luft is this History? If such is Man, Mankind's Historian, tho’ Divine, might weep. And dares Lorenzo smile? I know thee Proud For once let Pride befriend thee ; Pride looks pale At such a Scene, and sighs for something more. Amid thy. Boasts, Prelumptions, and Displays, And art Thou then a Shadow ?, Less than Shade? A Nothing ? Less than Nothing ? To have been, And not to be, is lower than Unborn. Art thou ambitious ? Why then make the Worm. Thine Equal ? Runs thy Taste of Pleasure high? Why patronize sure Death of ev'ry Joy? Charm Riches? Why chuse Begg’ry in the Graveg: Of ev'ry Hope a Bankrupt ! and for ever? Life's Joy so rich, Thou can'ft not wish for more: Ambition, Pleasure, Avarice, persuade Thee To make that World of Glory, Rapture, Wealth They lately prov'd, thy Soul's supreme Defire.

WHAT art thou made of ? Rather, how Unmade :: Great Nature's Master appetite destroy'd ! Is endless Life, and Happiness, despis'd ? Or Both-wifht, Here, where Neither can be found ? Such Man's perverse, eternal War with Heav'n! Dar'it Thou perfift? And is there nought on Earth, But a long Train of transitory Forms, Rifing, and breaking, Millions in an Hour ? Bubbles of a fantastic Deity, blown up In Sport, and then in Cruelty destroy'd ? Oh! for what Crime, unmerciful LORENZO ! Destroys thy Scheme the Whole of human Race Kind is fell Lucifer compar'd to Thee:

Oh! spare this Waste of Being half divine ;
And vindicate th' Oeconomy of Heav'n.

Heav'n is all Love ; all Joy in giving Joy;
It never had created, but to bless :
And shall It, then, strike off the Lift of Life,
A Being bleft, or: Worthy fo to be ?
Heav'n starts at an annibilating God.

Is That, all Nature starts at, thy Desire
Art such a Clod to wish thyself all Clay?
What is that dreadful With i-The dying Groan
Of Nature murder'd by the blackest Guilt;
What deadly Poison has thy Nature drank?
To Nature undebaucht no Shock so great ;
Nature's Firf Wish is endless Happiness ;
Annihilation is an After-thought,
A monstrous Wish unborn, till Virtue dies.
And oh! what Depth of Horror lies inclos'do
For Non-existence no Man ever witht,
But, first, he wifht the Deity destroy'd.

Ir fo ; what Words are dark enough to draw
Thy Picture true? The darkest are too fair.
Beneath what baleful Planet, in what Hour
Of Desperation, by what Fury's Aid,
In what Infernal Posture of the Soul,
All Hell invited, and all Hell in Joy,
At such a Birth, a Birth so near of King
Did thy foul Fancy whelp fo black a Scheme,
Of Hopes abortive, Faculties half-blown,
And Deities begun, reduc'd to Duft?

There's nought, Thou sayit, but one eternal Flux:
Of feeble Effences, tumultuous driv'n
Thro' Time's rough Billows into Night's Abyss.
Say, in this rapid Tide of human Ruin,
Is there no Rock, on which Man's tosling Thought
Can rest from Terror, dare his Fate survey,
And boldly think it Something to be Born ?

Amid such hourly Wrecks of Being fair,
Is there no central, all-sustaining Bafe,
All-realizing, all-connecting Pow'r,
Which, as it call'd-forth all Things, can recall,
And force Destruction to refund her Spoil ?
Command the Grave, restore her taken Prey?
Bid Death's dark Vale its Human Harvest yield,
And Earth, and Ocean, pay their Debt of Man,
True to the grand Deposit trusted There?
Is there no Potentate, whose out-stretcht Arm,
(When rip’ning Time calls forth th' appointed Hour,)
Pluckt from foul Devastation's famisht Maw,
Binds Present, Paft, and Future, to his Throne ?
His Throne, how glorious, thus divinely gracd,
By germinating Beings clust'ring round,
A Garland worthy the Divinity !
A Throne, by Heav'n's Omnipotence in Smiles,
Built, (like a Pharos tow'ring in the Waves,)
Amidst immenfe Effufions of his Love,
An Ocean of communicated Bliss.

An all-prolific, all-preserving God!.
This were a God indeed. And such is Man
As here presum'd: He rises from his Fall.
Think't Thou Omnipotence a naked Root,
Each offom fair of Deity destroy'd ?.
Nothing is dead; nay, Nothing fleeps ; each Soul
That ever animated human Clay,
Now wakes; is on the Wing: And where, O where,
Will the Swarm settle ? -When the Trumpet's Call,
As sounding Brass, collects us, round Heav'n's Throne
Conglob'd, we balk in everlasting Day,
(Paternal Splendor !) and adhere for ever.
Had not the Soul this Outlet to the Skies,
In this vaft Vefsel of the Universe,
How should we gasp, as in an empty Void:
How in the Pangs of famifht Hope expire ?

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