Fir'd at the prospect of unclouded bliss,
Heav'n in reversion, like the sun, as yet
Beneath th' horizon, chears us in this world;
It sheds, on souls susceptible of light,
The glorious dawn of our eternal day.
"This (says LORENZO) is a fair harangue :
"But can harangues blow back strong nature's stream; "Or stem the tide heav'n pushes thro' our veins, "Which sweeps away man's impotent resolves, "And lays his labour level with the world?"
Themselves men make their comment on mankind: And think nought is, but what they find at home : Thus, weakness to chimæra turns the truth. Nothing romantic has the muse prescrib'd. * Above, LORENZO saw the man of earth, The mortal man; and wretched was the sight. To balance that, to comfort, and exalt,
Now see the man immortal: Him, I mean,
Who lives as such; whose heart, full-bent on heaven,
Leans all that way, his bias to the stars.
The world's dark shades, in contrast set, shall raise
His lustre more; tho' bright, without a foil:
Observe his awful portrait, and admire;
Nor stop at wonder: imitate, and live.
Some guide my pencil, while I draw,
What nothing less than angel can exceed !
A man on earth devoted to the skies;
Like ships in sea, while in, above the world.
With aspect mild, and elevated eye, Behold him seated on a mount serene,
Above the fogs of sense, and passion's storm ;
All the black cares, and tumults, of this life,
Like harmless thunders, breaking at his feet,
Excite his pity, not impair his peace.
Earth's genuine sons, the sceptred, and the slave,
A mingled mob! a wand'ring herd! he sees,
Bewilder'd in the vale; in all unlike !
His full reverse in all; What higher praise?
What stronger demonstration of the right?
The present all their care; the future, his.
When public welfare calls, or private want,
They give to fame; his bounty he conceals.
Their virtues varnish nature: his exalt.
Mankind's esteem they court; and he, his own,
Theirs, the wild chace of false felicities;
His, the compos'd possession of the true.
Alike throughout is his consistent peace,
All of one colour, and an even thread;
While party-colour'd shreds of happiness, -
With hideous gaps between, patch up for them
A madman's robe; each puff of fortune blows
The tatters by, and shews their nakedness.
He sees with other eyes than theirs: Where they Behold a sun, he spies a Deity;
What makes them only smile, makes him adore.
Where they see mountains, he but atoms sees ;
An empire, in his balance, weighs a grain.
They things terrestrial worship, as divine;
His hopes immortal blow them by, as dust,
That dims his sight, and shortens his survey,
Which longs, in Infinite, to lose all bound.
Titles and honours (if they prove his fate)
He lays aside to find his dignity;
No dignity they find in aught besides.
They triumph in externals (which conceal
Man's real glory), proud of an eclipse.
Himself too much he prizes to be proud,
And nothing thinks so great in man, as man.
Too dear he holds his int'rest, to neglect
Another's welfare, or his right invade
Their int'rest, like a lion, lives on prey.
They kindle at the shadow of a wrong;
Wrong he sustains with temper, looks on heaven,
Nor stoops to think his injurer his foe;
Nought, but what wounds his virtue, wounds his
A cover'd heart their character defends;
A cover'd heart denies him half his praise.
With nakedness his innocence agrees;
While their broad foliage testifies their fall :
Their no joys end, where his full feast begins :
His joys create, Theirs murder, future bliss.
To triumph in existence, his alone;
And his alone, triumphantly to think
His true existence is not yet begun.
His glorious course was, yesterday, complete ; Death, then, was welcome; yet life still is sweet. But nothing charms LORENZO, like the firm, Undaunted breast-And whose is that high praise?
They yield to pleasure, tho' they danger brave,
And shew no fortitude, but in the field?
If there they shew it, 'tis for glory shewn ;
Nor will that cordial always man their hearts.
A cordial his sustains, that cannot fail;
By pleasure unsubdu'd, unbroke by pain,
He shares in that Omnipotence he trusts.
All-bearing, all-attempting, till he falls;
And when he falls, writes VICI on his shield.
From magnanimity, all fear above;
From nobler recompence, above applause;
Which owes to man's short out-look all its charms.
Backward to credit what he never felt,
LORENZO cries," Where shines this miracle?
"From what root rises this immortal man?"
A root that grows not in LORENZO's ground;
The root dissect, nor wonder at the flower.
He follows nature (not like thee) and shews us
An uninverted system of a man.
His appetite wears reason's golden chain,
And finds in due restraint, its luxury.
His passion, like an eagle well reclaim'd,
Is taught to fly at nought, but Infinite.
Patient his hope, un-anxious is his care,
His caution fearless, and his grief (if grief
The gods ordain) a stranger to despair.
And why? Because affection, more than meet,
His wisdom leaves not disengag'd from heaven.
Those secondary goods that smile on earth,
He, loving in proportion, loves in peace.
They most the world enjoy, who least admire.
His understanding 'scapes the common cloud
Of fumes, arising from a boiling breast.
His head is clear, because his heart is cool,
By worldly competitions uninflam’d.
The mod'rate movements of his soul admit
Distinct ideas, and matur'd debate,
An eye impartial, and an even scale;
Whence judgment sound, and unrepenting choice.
Thus, in a double sense, the good are wise
On its own dunghill, wiser than the world.
What, then, the world? It must be doubly weak;
Strange truth! as soon would they believe their Creed,
Yet thus it is; nor otherwise can be ;
So far from aught romantic, what I sing.
Bliss has no being, virtue has no strength,
But from the prospect of immortal life.
Who think earth all, or (what weighs just the same)
Who care no farther, must prize what it yields;
Fond of its fancies, proud of its parades.
Who thinks earth nothing, can't its charms admire;
He can't a foe, tho' most malignant, hate,
Because that hate would prove his greater foe.
'Tis hard for them (yet who so loudly boast
Good-will to men?) to love their dearest friend
For may not he invade their good supreme,
Where the least jealousy turns love to gall?
All shines to them, that for a season shines,
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