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 shows 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, unanxious 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 disengaged from Heaven. 1170
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 the boiling breast.
His head is clear, because his heart is cool,
By worldly competitions uninflamed.
The moderate movements of his soul admit
Distinct ideas, and matured 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, 1191
Fond of its fancies, proud of its parades.
Who thinks earth nothing can't its charms admire ;
He can't a foe, though most malignant, hate,
Because that hate would prove his greater fou.
'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 :
Each act, each thought he questions; 'What its weight, Its colour what, a thousand ages hence?'
And what it there appears, he deems it now;
Hence pure are the recesses of his soul.
The godlike man has nothing to conceal ;
His virtue, constitutionally deep,
Has Habit's firmness, and Affection's flame:
Angels, allied, descend to feed the fire,
And Death, which others slays, makes him a god.
And now, Lorenzo! bigot of this world!
Wont to disdain poor bigots, caught by Heaven!
Stand by thy scorn, and be reduced to nought!
For what art thou?-Thou boaster! while thy glare,
Thy gaudy grandeur, and mere worldly worth,
Like a broad mist, at distance, strikes us most,
And, like a mist, is nothing when at hand;
His merit, like a mountain, on approach,
Swells more, and rises nearer to the skies;
By promise now, and by possession, soon
(Too soon, too much, it cannot be his own.
From this thy just annihilation rise,
Lorenzo rise to something, by reply.
The world, thy client, listens and expects,
And longs to crown thee with immortal praise.—
Canst thou be silent? no; for wit is thine,
And Wit talks most when least she has to say,
And Reason interrupts not her career.
She'll say that mists above the mountains rise,
And with a thousand pleasantries amuse;
She'll sparkle, puzzle, flutter, raise a dust,
And fly conviction in the dust she raised.
Wit, how delicious to man's dainty taste! "Tis precious as the vehicle of sense,
But, as its substitute, a dire disease.
Pernicious talent flatter'd by the world,
By the blind world, which thinks the talent rare.
Wisdom is rare, Lorenzo! wit abounds;
Passion can give it; sometimes wine inspires
The lucky flash; and madness rarely fails.
Whatever cause the spirit strongly stirs
Confers the bays, and rivals thy renown.
For thy renown 'twere well was this the worst ;
Chance often hits it; and, to pique thee more,
See Dulness, blundering on vivacities,
Shakes her sage head at the calamity
Which has exposed, and let her down to thee.
But Wisdom, awful Wisdom! which inspects,
Discerns, compares, weigks, separates, infers,
Seizes the right, and holds it to the last,
How rare in senates, synods, sought in vain;
Or if there found, 'tis sacred to the few;
While a lewd prostitute to multitudes,
Frequent, as fatal, Wit. In civil life
Wit makes an enterpriser, Sense a man.
Wit hates authority, commotion loves,
And thinks herself the lightning of the storm.
In states 'tis dangerous; in religion, death.
Shall Wit turn Christian when the dull believe?
Sense is our helmet, Wit is but the plume,
The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves.
Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound;
When cut by Wit it casts a brighter beam;
Yet Wit apart, it is a diamond still.
Wit, widow'd of good sense, is worse than nought;
It hoists more sail to run against a rock.
Thus a half Chesterfield is quite a fool,
Whom dull fools scorn and bless their want of wit
How ruinous the rock I warn thee shun,
Where sirens sit, to sing thee to thy fate!
A joy in which our reason bears no part,
Is but a sorrow, tickling ere it stings.
Let not the cooings of the world allure thee;
Which of her lovers ever found her true?
Happy! of this bad world who little know:-
And yet, we much must know her, to be safe."
To know the world, not love her, is thy point;
She gives but little, nor that little long.
There is, I grant, a triumph of the pulse,
A dance of spirits, a mere froth of joy,
Our thoughtless agitation's idle child,
That mantles high, that sparkles, and expires,
Leaving the soul more vapid than before;
An animal ovation! such as holds
No commerce with our reason, but subsists
On juices, through the well toned tubes, well strain'd;
A nice machine! scarce ever tuned aright;
And when it jars-thy sirens sing no more:
Thy dance is done; the demi-god is thrown
(Short apotheosis!) beneath the man,
In coward gloom immersed, or fell despair.
Art thou yet dull enough despair to dread,
And startle at destruction? if thou art,
Accept a buckler, take it to the field;
(A field of battle is this mortal life!)
When danger threatens, lay it on thy heart,
A single sentence proof against the world.
'Soul, body, fortune; every good pertains
To one of these; but prize not all alike;
The goods of fortune to thy body's health,
Body to soul, and soul submit to God'
Wouldst thou build lasting happiness? do this:
The' inverted pyramid can never stand.
Is this truth doubtful? it outshines the Sun ;
Nay, the Sun shines not but to show us this,
The single lesson of mankind on earth:
And yet-yet what? No news! mankind is mad;
Such mighty numbers list against the right,
(And what can't numbers, when bewitch'd, achieve )
They talk themselves to something like belief
That all earth's joys are theirs; as Athens' fool 1310
Grinn'd from the port, on every sail his own.
They grin, but wherefore? and how long the laugh? Half ignorance their mirth, and half a lie.
To cheat the world, and cheat themselves, they smile : Hard either task! the most abandon'd own
That others, if abandon'd, are undone :
Then for themselves, the moment Reason wakes, (And Providence denies it long repose)
O how laborious is their gaiety!
They scarce can swallow their ebullient spleen, 1320
Scarce muster patience to support the farce,
And pump sad laughter till the curtain fails.
Scarce did I say? some cannot sit it out;
Oft their own daring hands the curtain draw,
And show us what their joy by their despair.
The clotted hair! gored breast! blaspheming eye! Its impious fury still alive in death!
Shut, shut the shocking scene.-But Heaven denies
A cover to such guilt, and so should man.
Look round, Lorenzo! see the reeking blade
The' envenom'd phial, and the fatal ball;
The strangling cord, and suffocating stream;
The loathsome rottenness, and foul decays,
From raging riot, (slower suicides!)
And pride in these, more execrable still!
How horrid all to thought!—but horrors, these,
That vouch the truth, and aid my feeble song.
From vice, sense, fancy, no man can be bless'd.
Bliss is too great to lodge within an hour:
When an immortal being aims at bliss,
Duration is essential to the name.
O for a joy from reason! joy from that
Which makes man man, and, exercised aright,
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