« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
NIGHT THOUGHTS, by Dr. YOUNG.
VIR’D nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep!
He, like the world, his ready visit pays
Where fortune smiles; the wretched he forfakes :
Swift on his downy pinions Aies from woe,
And lights on lids unsully'd with a tear.
From short (as usual) and disturb'd repose,
I wake : how happy they, who wake no more !
The day too short for my distress! and night,
Evin in the zenith of her dark domain,
Is fun-fhine, to the colour of my fate.
Night, fable goddess ! from her ebon throne,
In rayless majesty, now stretches forth
Her leaden fceptre o'er a lluinb'ring world.
Silence, how dead! and darkness, how profound !
Nor eye, nor lill’ning ear, an object finds;
Creation sleeps. 'Tis, as the gen'ral pulse
Of life stood ftill, and nature made a pause ;
An awful pause! prophetic of her end,
And let her prophecy be soon fulfillid;
Fate! drop the curtain ; I can lose no more.
O Thou ! whose word from solid darkness struck
That spark the sun; strike wisdom from my soul ;
My soul, which hics to thee, her trust, her treasure,
As misers to their gold, while others rest.
Thro' this opaquc of nature, and of foul,
This double night, transmit one pitying ray,
To lighten, and to chear. O lead my mind,
(A mind that sain would wander from its woc)
Lead it thro' various scenes of life, and death,
And from each scene the noblest truths inspire.
Nor less inspire my conduct, than my song;
Teach my belt reason, rcafon; my best will
Tcach rectitude; and fix my firm resolve
Wisdom to wed, and pay her long arrear :
Nor let the phial of thy vengeance, pour’d
On this devoted head, be pourd in vain.
The bell strikes one. We take no note of time,
But from its loss. To give it then a tonguc,
Is wile in man. As if an angel spoke,
I feel the solemn found. If heard aright,
It is the knell of my departed hours :
Where are they? With the years beyond the Nood.
It is the signal that demando dispatch;
llow 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 fathomless abyss ;
A Jrcad cternity! how surely mine!
And can eternity belong to me,
Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?
How poor, how rich, how abje&t, how aogult,
How complicate, how wonderful, is man!
How palling wonder He, who made him such!
Who centred in our make such frange extremes !
From diff'rent natures marvelously mixt,
Connection exquisite of disant worlds !
Difinguith'd link in Being's endless chain!
Midway from nothing to the Deity!
A beam ethereal fully'd, and absorpt!
Tho'fully'd, and difonour'd, fill divine !
Dim miniature of greatness absolute !
An heir of glory! a frail child' of dust!
Helpless immortal! infect infinite!
A worm! a god! I tremble at myself
Our waking dreams are fatal. How I dreamt
Of joys perpetual in perpetual change!
Of stable pleasures on the tossing wave!
Eternal funshine in the storms of life!
How richly were my noon-tide trances hung
With gorgeous tapestries of pi&tur'd joys !
Joy behind joy, in endless perspective!
Till at death's toll, whose restless iron congue
Calls daily for his millions at a meal,
Starting I woke, and found myself undone. .
Where now my phrensy's pompous furniture ?
The cobweb'd cottage, with its ragged wall
Of mould'ring mod, is royalty to me!
The spider's most attenuated thread
Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie
On earthly bliss; it breaks at ev'ry breeze.
() ye blest scenes of permanent delight!
Full, above measure I lasting, beyond bound !
A perpetuity of bliss, is blili.
Could you, so rich in rapture, fear an end,
That ghaltly thought would drink up all your joy,
And quite unparadise the realms of light.
Safe are you lodg'd above these rolling spheres ;
The baleful influence of whose giddy dance
Sheds sad vicissitude on all beneath.
Here seems with revolutions every hour ;
And rarely for the better ; or the best,
More mortal than the common births of fate.
Each moment has its sickle, emulous
Of time's enormous scythe, whose ample sweep
Strikes empires from the root; each moment plays.
His little weapon in the narrower sphere
Of swoce domesic comfort, and cuts down
The faireft bloom of sublunary bliss.
Blic ! fublunary blilu --Proud words, and vain !
Implicit creason to divine decree !
A bold invasion of the rights of heav'n!
I clasp'd the phantoms, and I found them air.
Oh had I weigh'd it ere my fond embrace !
What darts of agony had miss d my heart !
Death! great proprietor of all ! 'tis thine
To tread out empire, and to quench che ftars,
The sun himself by thy permiflion lines;
And, one day, thou shalt pluck him from his sphere,
Amid such mighty plunder, why exhauft
Thy partial quiver on a mark so mean?
Why thy peculiar rançour wreck'd on me?
Insatiate archer ! could not one suffice ?
Thy shaft flew thrice; and thrice my peace was llain;
And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her horn.
Cynthia! why fo pale? Doft thou lament
Thy wretched neighbour ? Grieve to see thy wheel
Of ceaseless change outwhirld in human life?
borrow'd bliss ! from fortune's smile,
Precarious courtsey ! not virtue's fare,
Self-given, folar, ray of sound delight.
In ev'ry vary'd posture, place, and hour,
How widow'd ev'ry thought of ev'ry joy!
Thought, busy thought! too busy for my peace!,
Thro' the dark posiern of time long claps'd,
Led softly, by the fillness of the night,
Led, like a murderer, (and such it proves !)