Why discontent for ever harbour'd there? Incurable consumption of our peace! 30 Resolve me why the cottager and king, He whom sea-sever'd realms obey, and he Who steals his whole dominion from the waste, Repelling winter blasts with mud and straw, Disquieted alike, draw sigh for sigh, 35 In fate so distant, in complaint so near? Is it that things terrestrial can't content? Deep in rich pasture, will thy flocks complain? To share their sweet serene. Man, ill at ease 40 In this, not his own place, this foreign field, Sighs on for something more, when most enjoy'd. 45 In part remote; for that remoter part Man bleats from instinct, though, perhaps, debauch'd Shall sons of Ether, shall the blood of Heaven, 55 60 Our heads, our hearts, our passions, and our powers, Speak the same language; call us to the skies : Unripen'd these, in this inclement clime, Scarce rise above conjecture and mistake; 65 And for this land of trifles those too strong A brighter sun, and in a nobler soil, Shall flourish fair, and put forth all their bloom. The patriarch-pupil would be learning still, Should set ere noon, in eastern occans drown'd; 90 If fit, with dim, illustrious to compare, To man why, stepdame Nature! so severe ? Why thrown aside thy masterpiece half-wrought, 95 Nor reach what reach he might, why die in dread? Why cursed with foresight? wise to misery? Why of his proud prerogative the prey? Why less preeminent in rank than pain? Full ample fund to balance all amiss, 100 That darkest of enigmas, human hope; 105 110 That wish accomplish'd, why the grave of bliss?— 115 Beyond our plans of empire and renown, Lies all that man with ardour should pursue; And He who made him bent him to the right. Man's heart the' Almighty to the future sets, By secret and inviolable springs; 120 And makes his hope his sublunary joy. Man's heart eats all things, and is hungry still; 'More, more!' the glutton cries: for something new So rages appetite; if man can't mount, He will descend. He starves on the possess'd; 125 130 Old Rome consulted birds: Lorenzo! thou With more success the flight of Hope survey, Of restless Hope for ever on the wing. High perch'd o'er every thought that falcon sits, 135 And never stooping, but to mount again Next moment, she betrays her aim's mistake, And owns her quarry lodged beyond the grave If being fails) more mournful riddles rise, 140 Virtue 13 true self-interest pursued ; 145 Whence self-applause? from conscience of the right; And what is right, but means of happiness? 151 Is weak, with rank knight-errantries o'errun. Why beats thy bosom with illustrious dreams Of gallant enterprise, and glorious death? 160 Die for thy country?-thou romantic rool! Seize, seize the plank thyself, and let her sink. Thy country! what to thee?-the Godhead, what! If, with thy blood, thy final hope is spilt? Nor is it disobedience. Know, Lorenzo! Whate'er the' Almighty's subsequent command, 165 His first command is this :- Man, love thyself.' 170 Black suicide; though nations, which consult 175 180 ? Why to be good in vain is man betray'd? 185 190 Since virtue sometimes ruins us on earth, Or both are true, or man survives the grave. Or man survives the grave; or own, Lorenzo, Thy boast supreme a wild absurdity. Dauntless thy spirit, cowards are thy scorn. 195 Grant man immortal, and thy scorn is just. The man immortal, rationally brave, Dares rush on death-because he cannot die ! But if man loses all when life is lost, He lives a coward, or a fool expires. 200 A daring Infidel (and such there are, From pride, example, lucre, rage, revenge, Or pure heroical defect of thought) Of all earth's madmen most deserves a chain. When to the grave we follow the renown'd 205 For valour, virtue, science, all we love, And all we praise; for worth, whose noontide beam, Enabling us to think in higher style, Mends our ideas of ethereal powers; Dream we, that lustre of the moral world 210 Goes out in stench, and rottenness the close? Why was he wise to know, and warm to praise, And strenuous to transcribe, in human life, The Mind Almighty? Could it be that Fate, Just when the lineaments began to shine, 215 And dawn the Deity, should snatch the draught, With night eternal blot it out, and give |