Classic Poem

NIGHT THE SIXTH

Nor dreadful our Transition; tho' the Mind,
An Artist at creating self-alarms,
Rich in Expedients for Inquietude,
Is prone to paint it dreadful. Who can take
Death's Portrait true? the Tyrant never sate.
Our Sketch, all random Strokes, Conjecture all;
Close shuts the Grave, nor tells one single Tale
Death, and his Image rising in the Brain,
Bear faint resemblance; never are alike;
Fear shakes the Pencil, Fancy loves Excess,
Dark Ignorance is lavish of her Shades;
And These the formidable Picture draw.
*

How Great (while yet we tread the kindred Clod,
And ev'ry Moment fear to sink beneath
The Clod we tread; soon trodden by our Sons,)
How Great in the wild Whirl of Time's pursuits
To stop, and pause, involv'd in high Presage,
Thro' the long Visto of a thousand Years,
To stand contemplating our distant Selves,
As in a magnifying Mirror seen,
Enlarg'd, Ennobl'd, Elevate, Divine?
To prophesy our own Futurities?
To gaze in Thought on what all Thought transcends?
To talk, with Fellow-Candidates, of Joys
As far beyond Conception, as Desert,
Ourselves the astonish'd Talkers, and the Tale!
*

If inextinguishable Thirst in Man
To know; how rich, how full our Banquet There?
There, not the Moral world alone unfolds;
The World Material lately seen in Shades,
And in those Shades, by Fragments, only seen,
And seen those Fragments by the labouring Eye,
Unbroken, then, illustrious and entire,
Its ample Sphere, its universal Frame,
Its full Dimensions, swells to the Survey;
And enters, at one Glance, the ravisht Sight.
From some superior Point (where, who can tell?
Suffice it, 'tis a Point where Gods reside)
How shall the stranger Man's illumin'd Eye,
In the vast Ocean of unbounded Space,
Behold an Infinite of floating Worlds
Divide the Crystal Waves of Ether pure,
In endless Voyage, without Port? The least
Of these disseminated Orbs, how Great?
Great as they are, what Numbers These surpass
Huge, as Leviathan, to that small Race,
Those twinkling Multitudes of little Life,
He swallows unperceiv'd? Stupendous These!
Yet what are these Stupendous to the Whole?
As Particles, as Atoms ill-perceiv'd;
As circulating Globules in our Veins;
So vast the Plan: Fecundity Divine!
Exuberant Source! perhaps, I wrong thee still.
*

Ambition! powerful source of Good and Ill!
Thy strength in Man, like length of wing in Birds,
When disengag'd from Earth, with greater Ease
And swifter Flight, transports us to the skies:
By Toys entangled, or in Guilt bemir'd,
It turns a Curse; it is our Chain, and Scourge,
In this dark Dungeon, where confin'd we lie,
Close-grated by the sordid Bars of Sense;
All prospect of Eternity shut out;
And, but for Execution, ne'er set Free,
With error in Ambition justly charg'd,
Find we Lorenzo wiser in his Wealth?
What if thy Rental I reform? and draw
An Inventory new to set thee right?
Where, thy true Treasure? Gold says, " not in me,"
And, " not in me," the Diamond. Gold is poor;
India's insolvent: Seek it in Thyself;
Seek in thy naked Self, and find it There.
In Being so Descended, Form'd, Endow'd;
Sky-born, sky-guided, sky-returning Race!
Erect, Immortal, Rational, Divine!
In Senses, which inherit Earth, and Heavens;
Enjoy the various riches Nature yields;
Far nobler! give the riches they enjoy;
Give tast to Fruits; and harmony to Groves;
Their radiant beams to Gold, and Gold's bright Sire;
Take in, at once, the Landscape of the world,
At a small Inlet, which a Grain might close,
And half create the wondrous World, they see.
Our Senses, as our Reason, are Divine.
But for the magic Organ's powerful charm,
Earth were a rude, uncolour'd Chaos still
Objects are but the Occasion; Ours th' Exploit;
Ours is the Cloth, the Pencil, and the Paint,
Which Nature's admirable Picture draws;
And beautifies Creation's ample Dome.
Like Milton's Eve, when gazing on the Lake,
Man makes the matchless Image, man admires.
Say then, shall man, his Thoughts all sent abroad,
Superior wonders in Himself forgot,
His Admiration wast on objects round,
When Heaven makes Him the soul of all he sees?
Absurd! not Rare! so Great, so Mean, is man.
*

Doubt you this Truth? Why labours your Belief?
If Earth's whole Orb, by some due-distanc'd eye,
Were seen at once, her tow'ring Alps would sink,
And level'd Atlas leave an even Sphere
Thus Earth, and all that earthly minds admire,
Is swallow'd in Eternity's vast Round.
To that stupendous view, when souls awake,
So large of late, so mountainous to man,
Time's Toys subside; and equal All below
*

Look Nature through, 'tis Revolution All.
All Change, no Death Day follows Night; and Night
The dying Day; Stars, rise, and set, and rise;
Earth take th' Example. See, the Summer gay,
With her green chaplet, and ambrosial flow'rs,
Droops into pallid Autumn: Winter grey,
Horrid with frost, and turbulent with storm,
Blows Autumn, and his golden fruits away,
Then melts into the Spring: Soft Spring, with breath
Favonian, from warm chambers of the South,
Recalls the First. All, to reflourish, fades.
As in a wheel, All sinks, to reascend
Emblems of man, who passes, not expires
With this minute distinction, Emblems just,
Nature revolves, but Man advances; Both
Eternal, that a Circle, this a Line.
That gravitates, this soars. Th' aspiring soul
Ardent, and tremulous, like Flame, ascends;
Zeal, and Humility, her wings to Heaven.
The world of Matter, with its various Forms,
All dies into new Life. Life born from Death
Rolls the vast Mass, and shall for ever roll.

NIGHT THE SIXTH

Nor dreadful our Transition; tho' the Mind,
An Artist at creating self-alarms,
Rich in Expedients for Inquietude,
Is prone to paint it dreadful. Who can take
Death's Portrait true? the Tyrant never sate.
Our Sketch, all random Strokes, Conjecture all;
Close shuts the Grave, nor tells one single Tale
Death, and his Image rising in the Brain,
Bear faint resemblance; never are alike;
Fear shakes the Pencil, Fancy loves Excess,
Dark Ignorance is lavish of her Shades;
And These the formidable Picture draw.
*

How Great (while yet we tread the kindred Clod,
And ev'ry Moment fear to sink beneath
The Clod we tread; soon trodden by our Sons,)
How Great in the wild Whirl of Time's pursuits
To stop, and pause, involv'd in high Presage,
Thro' the long Visto of a thousand Years,
To stand contemplating our distant Selves,
As in a magnifying Mirror seen,
Enlarg'd, Ennobl'd, Elevate, Divine?
To prophesy our own Futurities?
To gaze in Thought on what all Thought transcends?
To talk, with Fellow-Candidates, of Joys
As far beyond Conception, as Desert,
Ourselves the astonish'd Talkers, and the Tale!
*

If inextinguishable Thirst in Man
To know; how rich, how full our Banquet There?
There, not the Moral world alone unfolds;
The World Material lately seen in Shades,
And in those Shades, by Fragments, only seen,
And seen those Fragments by the labouring Eye,
Unbroken, then, illustrious and entire,
Its ample Sphere, its universal Frame,
Its full Dimensions, swells to the Survey;
And enters, at one Glance, the ravisht Sight.
From some superior Point (where, who can tell?
Suffice it, 'tis a Point where Gods reside)
How shall the stranger Man's illumin'd Eye,
In the vast Ocean of unbounded Space,
Behold an Infinite of floating Worlds
Divide the Crystal Waves of Ether pure,
In endless Voyage, without Port? The least
Of these disseminated Orbs, how Great?
Great as they are, what Numbers These surpass
Huge, as Leviathan, to that small Race,
Those twinkling Multitudes of little Life,
He swallows unperceiv'd? Stupendous These!
Yet what are these Stupendous to the Whole?
As Particles, as Atoms ill-perceiv'd;
As circulating Globules in our Veins;
So vast the Plan: Fecundity Divine!
Exuberant Source! perhaps, I wrong thee still.
*

Ambition! powerful source of Good and Ill!
Thy strength in Man, like length of wing in Birds,
When disengag'd from Earth, with greater Ease
And swifter Flight, transports us to the skies:
By Toys entangled, or in Guilt bemir'd,
It turns a Curse; it is our Chain, and Scourge,
In this dark Dungeon, where confin'd we lie,
Close-grated by the sordid Bars of Sense;
All prospect of Eternity shut out;
And, but for Execution, ne'er set Free,
With error in Ambition justly charg'd,
Find we Lorenzo wiser in his Wealth?
What if thy Rental I reform? and draw
An Inventory new to set thee right?
Where, thy true Treasure? Gold says, " not in me,"
And, " not in me," the Diamond. Gold is poor;
India's insolvent: Seek it in Thyself;
Seek in thy naked Self, and find it There.
In Being so Descended, Form'd, Endow'd;
Sky-born, sky-guided, sky-returning Race!
Erect, Immortal, Rational, Divine!
In Senses, which inherit Earth, and Heavens;
Enjoy the various riches Nature yields;
Far nobler! give the riches they enjoy;
Give tast to Fruits; and harmony to Groves;
Their radiant beams to Gold, and Gold's bright Sire;
Take in, at once, the Landscape of the world,
At a small Inlet, which a Grain might close,
And half create the wondrous World, they see.
Our Senses, as our Reason, are Divine.
But for the magic Organ's powerful charm,
Earth were a rude, uncolour'd Chaos still
Objects are but the Occasion; Ours th' Exploit;
Ours is the Cloth, the Pencil, and the Paint,
Which Nature's admirable Picture draws;
And beautifies Creation's ample Dome.
Like Milton's Eve, when gazing on the Lake,
Man makes the matchless Image, man admires.
Say then, shall man, his Thoughts all sent abroad,
Superior wonders in Himself forgot,
His Admiration wast on objects round,
When Heaven makes Him the soul of all he sees?
Absurd! not Rare! so Great, so Mean, is man.
*

Doubt you this Truth? Why labours your Belief?
If Earth's whole Orb, by some due-distanc'd eye,
Were seen at once, her tow'ring Alps would sink,
And level'd Atlas leave an even Sphere
Thus Earth, and all that earthly minds admire,
Is swallow'd in Eternity's vast Round.
To that stupendous view, when souls awake,
So large of late, so mountainous to man,
Time's Toys subside; and equal All below
*

Look Nature through, 'tis Revolution All.
All Change, no Death Day follows Night; and Night
The dying Day; Stars, rise, and set, and rise;
Earth take th' Example. See, the Summer gay,
With her green chaplet, and ambrosial flow'rs,
Droops into pallid Autumn: Winter grey,
Horrid with frost, and turbulent with storm,
Blows Autumn, and his golden fruits away,
Then melts into the Spring: Soft Spring, with breath
Favonian, from warm chambers of the South,
Recalls the First. All, to reflourish, fades.
As in a wheel, All sinks, to reascend
Emblems of man, who passes, not expires
With this minute distinction, Emblems just,
Nature revolves, but Man advances; Both
Eternal, that a Circle, this a Line.
That gravitates, this soars. Th' aspiring soul
Ardent, and tremulous, like Flame, ascends;
Zeal, and Humility, her wings to Heaven.
The world of Matter, with its various Forms,
All dies into new Life. Life born from Death
Rolls the vast Mass, and shall for ever roll.