And burn impatient for his promis'd Skies.
The Bad on each punctilious Pique of Pride,
Or Gloom of Humour, would give Rage the Rein, Bound o'er the Barrier, rush into the Dark,
And marr the Schemes of Providence below.
What Groan was that, Lorenzo!-Furies! rife
And drown in your lefs execrable Yell,
Britannia's Shame. There took her gloomy Flight,
On Wing impetuous, a Black fullen Soul,
Blasted from Hell, with horrid Lust of Death.
Thy Friend, the Brave, the Gallant Altamont,
So call'd, fo thought-And then he fled the Field.
Lefs Base the Fear of Death, than Fear of Life.
O Britain, infamous for Suicide!
An Island in thy Manners! far disjoin'd
From the whole World of Rationals befide.
In ambient Waves plunge thy polluted Head,
Wash the dire Stain, nor fhock the Continent.
But Thou be shock'd, while I detect the Caufe Of Self-Alfault, expose the Monster's Birth,
And bid Abhorrence hifs it round the World.
Blame not thy Clime, nor chide the distant Sun;
The Sun is innocent, thy Clime absolv❜d,
Immoral Climes kind Nature never made.
The Cause I fing, in Eden might prevail,
And proves, It is thy Folly, not thy Fate.
The Soul of Man, (let Man in Homage bow Who names his Soul) a Native of the Skies! Highborn, and free, her Freedom should maintain, Unfold, unmortgag'd for Earth's little Bribes. Th' illuftrious Stranger, in this foreign Land, Like Strangers, jealous of her Dignity,
Studious of Home, and ardent to return,
Of Earth suspicious, Earth's inchanted Cup
With cool Reserve light-touching, should indulge
On Immortality, her Godlike Taft;
There take large Draughts; make her chief Banquet
But fome reject this Sustenance Divine ;
To beggarly vile Appetites defcend;
Afk Alms of Earth, for Guests that came from
Sink into Slaves; and fell for present Hire,
Their rich Reverfion, and (what shares its Fate,
Their native Freedom, to the Prince who fways
This nether World. And when his Payments fail,
When his foul Bafket gorges them no more;
Or their pall'd Palates loath the Basket full,
Are, inftantly, with wild Damoniac Rage,
For breaking all the Chains of Providence,
And bursting their Confinement; tho' fast barr'd
By Laws divine and human; guarded strong
With Horrors doubled to defend the Pafs,
The blackest Nature, or dire Guilt can raife;
And moated round, with fathomlefs Destruction,
Sure to receive and whelm them in their Fall.
Such, Britons! is the Caufe, to you unknown,
Or worse, o'erlook'd; o'erlook'd by Magiftrates,
Thus, Criminals themselves. I grant the Deed
Is Madness; but the Madness of the Heart.
And what is that? our utmost bound of Guilt.
A sensual, unreflecting Life is big
With monftrous Births, and Suicide, to crown
The black infernal Brood. The Bold to break
Heaven's Law fupreme, and defperately rush
Thro' facred Nature's Murder, on their own,
Because they never think of Death, they die.
"Tis equally Man's Duty, Glory, Gain,
At once to fhun, and meditate, his End.
When by the Bed of Languishment we fit,
(The Seat of Wisdom! if our Choice, not Fate)
Or, o'er our dying Friends, in Anguish hang,
Wipe the cold Dew, or ftay the finking Head,
Number their Moments, and in ev'ry Clock,
Start at the Voice of an Eternity;
See the dim Lamp of Life juft feebly lift,
An agonizing Beam, at us to gaze,
Then fink again, and quiver into Death,
That most Pathetic Herald of our own;
How read we fuch fad Scenes? as fent to Man
In perfect Vengeance? no; in Pity fent,
To melt him down, like Wax, and then imprefs
Indelible, Death's Image on his Heart ;
Bleeding for others, Trembling for himself.
We bleed, we tremble; we forget, we smile.
The Mind turns Fool, before the Cheek is dry.
Our quick-returning Folly cancels all ;
As the Tide rushing rafes what is writ
In yielding Sands, and fmooths the Letter'd Shore.
Lorenzo! haft thou ever weigh'd a Sigh?
Or studied the Philofophy of Tears?
(A Science, yet, unlectnr'd in our Schools.)
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