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PREFACE.

As the occasion of this Poem was real, not fictitious; so the method pursued in it was rather imposed by what spontaneously arose in the Author's mind on that occasion, than meditated or designed. Which will appear very probable from the nature of it. For it differs from the common mode of poetry; which is, from long narrations to draw short morals. Here, on the contrary, the narrative is short, and the morality arising from it makes the bulk of the Poem, The reason of it is, that the facts mentioned did naturally pour these moral reflections on the thought of the Writer.

THE COMPLAINT.

NIGHT I.

ON LIFE, DEATH AND IMMORTALITY.

TO THE RIGHT HON. ARTHUR ONSLOW,

SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.

TIRED Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep)
He, like the world, his ready visit pays

ESQ.

Where Fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes,
Swift on his downy pinion flies from woc,
And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.)
From short (as usual) and disturb'd repose

I wake how happy they who wake no more !

Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the grave.

I wake, emerging from a sea of dreams

Tumultuous; where my wreck'd, desponding thought From wave to wave of fancied misery

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At random drove, her helm of reason lost.

Though now restored, 'tis only change of pain,

(A bitter change!) severer for severe.

The Day too short for my distress; and Night,
E'en in the zenith of her dark domain,

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Is sunshine to the colour of my fate.

Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne,

In rayless majesty, now stretches forth

Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.

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Silence how dead! and darkness how profound

Nor eye nor listening ear an object finds;
Creation sleeps. "Tis as the general pulse
Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause:
An awful pause! prophetic of her end.

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And let her prophecy be soon fulfill'd

Fate! drop the curtain; I can lose no more.

Silence and Darkness! solemn sisters! {wins

From ancient Night, who nurse the tender though
To Reason, and on reason build resolve

(That column of true majesty in man,)

Assist me: I will thank you in the grave;

The grave your kingdom: there this frame shall fall A victim sacred to your dreary shrine.

But what are ye?—

Thou who didst put to flight

Primeval Silence, when the morning stars,

Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball;

O Thou! whose word from solid darkness struck

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35

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That spark, the Sun, strike wisdom from my soul; 40
My soul, which flies to thee, her trust, her treasure,
As misers to their gold, while others rest.
Through this opaque of Nature and of Soul,
This double night, transmit one pitying ray,
To lighten and to cheer. O lead my mind
(A mind that fain would wander from its woe,)
Lead it through various scenes of life and death,
And from each scene the noblest truths inspire.
Nor less inspire my conduct than my song;
Teach my best reason, reason; my best will
Teach 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 poured in vain.

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The bell strikes one. We take no note of time 55 But from its loss: to give it then a tongue Is wise in man As if an angel spoke

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,

It is the knell of my departed hours.

Where are they? With the years beyond the flood. 60

It is the signal that demands despatch:

How much is to be done! My hopes and fears

Start up alarm'd, and o'er life's narrow verge

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