Classic Poem

NIGHT THE SECOND

Where is that Thrift, that Avarice of Time,
(O glorious Avarice!) thought of Death inspires,
As rumour'd robberies endear our Gold?
O Time! than Gold more sacred; more a Load
Than Lead, to Fools; and Fools reputed Wise.
What Moment granted Man without account?
What Years are squander'd, Wisdom's debt unpaid?
Our Wealth in Days all due to that discharge.
Haste, haste, He lies in wait, He's at the door,
Insidious Death! should his strong hand arrest,
No Composition sets the Prisoner free.
Eternity's inexorable chain
Fast binds; and Vengeance claims the full Arrear.
Ah! how unjust to Nature, and Himself,
Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent Man?
Like Children babling nonsense in their sports
We censure Nature for a Span too short;
That Span too short, we tax as tedious too,
Torture Invention, all Expedients tire,
To lash the ling'ring moments into speed;
And whirl us (happy riddance!) from ourselves
Art, brainless Art! our furious Charioteer
(For Nature's voice unstifled would recall)
Drives, headlong down towards the precipice of Death;
Death, most our Dread; Death thus more Dreadful made.
O what a Riddle of absurdity?
Leisure is pain; takes off our Chariot-wheels;
How heavily we drag the Load of Life?
Blest Leisure is our Curse, like that of Cain
It makes us wander; wander earth around
To fly that Tyrant, Thought. As Atlas groan'd
The world beneath, we groan beneath an Hour.
We cry for Mercy to the next Amusement;
The next Amusement mortgages our fields;
Slight inconvenience! Prisons hardly frown,
From hateful Time, if Prisons set us free.
Yet when Death kindly tenders us Relief,
We call him cruel; Years to Moments shrink,
Ages to Years: The Telescope is turn'd:
To man's false opticks (from his Folly false)
Time, in advance, behind him hides his Wings,
And seems to creep, decrepit with his Age;
Behold him, when past by; what then is seen
But his broad Pinions swifter than the winds?
And all Mankind, in Contradiction strong,
Ruefull, aghast! cry out on his Career.
*

All-sensual Man, because untouch'd, unseen,
He looks on Time, as nothing. Nothing else
Is truly Man's; tis Fortune's — Time's a God.
Hast Thou ne'er heard of Time's Omnipotence;
For, or against, what Wonders can He do?
And will: to stand blank Neuter He disdains
Not on those terms was Time, (Heaven's Stranger!) sent
On his important Embassy to Man.
Lorenzo! no: On the long-destin'd Hour,
From everlasting Ages growing ripe,
That memorable Hour of wond'rous Birth,
When the Dread Sire, on Emanation bent,
And big with Nature, rising in his might,
Call'd forth Creation, (for then Time was born),
By Godhead streaming thro' a thousand Worlds,
Not on those Terms, from the great days of Heaven,
From old Eternity's mysterious Orb,
Was Time cut off, and cast beneath the Skies;
The Skies, which watch him in his new abode,
Measuring his Motions by revolving Spheres;
That Horologe Machinery Divine.
Hours, Days, and Months, and Years, his Children, play,
Like numerous wings around him, as he flies:
Or, rather, as unequal Plumes, they shape
His ample Pinions, swift as darted Flame,
To gain his goal, to reach his ancient Rest,
And join anew Eternity his Sire;
In his Immutability to nest,
When Worlds, that count his Circles now, unhing'd,
(Fate the loud signal sounding) headlong rush
To timeless Night, and Chaos, whence they rose.
*

O Treacherous Conscience! when she seems to sleep,
On Rose and Myrtle, lull'd with Syren Song;
While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop
On headlong Appetite, the slackned rein,
And give us up to License, unrecall'd,
Unmarkt; — See, from behind her secret stand,
The sly Informer minutes every Fault,
And her dread Diary with Horror fills:
Not the gross Act alone employs her Pen;
She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band,
A watchful Foe! The formidable Spy,
List'ning o'erhears the Whispers of our Camp;
Our dawning Purposes of Heart explores,
And steals our Embryos of Iniquity.
As all-rapacious Usurers conceal
Their Doomsday book from all-consuming Heirs;
Thus, with Indulgence most severe, She treats
Us, Spendthrifts of inestimable Time;
Unnoted, notes each Moment misapply'd;
In leaves more durable than leaves of Brass,
Writes our whole History; which Death shall read
In every pale Delinquent's private Ear;
And Judgement publish; Publish to more worlds
Than this; and endless Age in groans resound.
Lorenzo, such that Sleeper in thy Breast!
Such is her Slumber; and her Vengeance such
For slighted Counsel; such thy future Peace!
And thin'st thou still canst be wise too soon?
But why on Time So lavish is my Song?
On this great Theme kind Nature keeps a School,
To teach her Sons Herself. Each Night we Dye,
Each Morn are born anew; Each Day, a Life!
And shall we kill each Day? If Trifling kills;
Sure Vice must butcher. O what heaps of slain
Cry out for Vengeance on us! Time destroy'd
Is Suicide, where more than Blood is spilt
Time flies, Death urges, Knells call, Heaven invites,
Hell threatens; All exerts; in Effort, All;
More than Creation labours! — Labours more?
And is there in Creation, What, amidst
This Tumult Universal, wing'd Dispatch;
And ardent Energy, supinely yawns? —
Man sleeps; and Man alone; and Man, whose Fate,
Fate irreversible, entire, extreme,
Endless, hair-hung, breeze-shaken, o'er the Gulph
A moment trembles; drops: and Man, for whom
All else is in alarm: Man, the sole Cause
Of this surrounding Storm! and yet he sleeps,
As the Storm rock'd to rest. — Throw Years away?
Throw Empires, and be blameless. Moments seize,
Heaven's on their Wing: a Moment we may wish,
When Worlds want Wealth to buy. Bid Day stand still,
Bid him drive back his Carr, and reimport
The Period past; regive the given hour.
Lorenzo, more than Miracles we want:
Lorenzo — O for Yesterdays to come!
*

Who venerate themselves, the World despise.
For what, gay friend! is this escutcheon'd World,
Which hangs out Death in one eternal Night?
A Night, that glooms us in the Noon-tide Ray,
And wraps our Thought, at Banquets, in the Shroud
Life's little stage is a small Eminence,
Inch-high the Grave above; that Home of Man,
Where dwells the Multitude, we gaze around;
We read their Monuments; we sigh; and while
We sigh, we sink; and are what we deplor'd;
Lamenting, or Lamented all our Lot!
*

Art thou so moor'd thou canst not disengage,
Nor give thy Thoughts a ply to future scenes?
Since, by Life's passing breath, blown up from Earth,
Light, as the Summer's dust, we take in Air
A Moment's giddy flight; and fall again;
Join the dull Mass, increase the trodden Soil,
And sleep till Earth herself shall be no more;
Since Then (as Emmets their small World o'erthrown)
We, sore-amaz'd, from out Earth's Ruins crawl,
And rise to Fate extreme, of Foul or Fair,
As Man's own Choice, Controuler of the Skies!
*

Hast thou no Friend to set thy mind abroach?
Good Sense will Stagnate: Thoughts shut up want Air,
And spoil, like Bales unopen'd to the Sun.
Had Thought been All, sweet Speech had been deny'd;
Speech, Thought's Canal! Speech, Thought's Criterion too!
Thought, in the Mine, may come forth Gold or Dross;
When coin'd in Word, we know its real worth.
If Sterling; store it for thy future Use;
'Twill buy thee Benefit; perhaps, Renown
Thought, too, deliver'd, is the more possest;
Teaching, we learn; and giving, we retain
The Births of Intellect: when dumb, forgot.
Speech ventilates our Intellectual fire;
Speech burnishes our Mental Magazine:
Brightens for Ornament; and whets for Use:
What Numbers, sheath'd in Erudition lie,
Plung'd to the Hilts in venerable Tomes,
And rusted in; who might have born an Edge,
And play'd a sprightly beam, if born to Speech;
If born blest Heirs of half their Mother's tongue?
'Tis Thought's exchange, which like th' alternate Push
Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned Scum,
And defecates the Student's standing Pool.
*

Whatever Farce the boastful Hero plays,
Virtue alone has Majesty in Death;
And greater still, the more the Tyrant frowns.
Philander! He severely frown'd on Thee.
" No warning given! Unceremonious Fate!
A suddain Rush from Life's meridian Joys!
A Wrench from all we Love! from all we are!
A restless bed of Pain! a Plunge opaque
Beyond Conjecture! Feeble Nature's dread!
Strong Reason's shudder at the dark Unknown!
A Sun extinguisht, a just opening Grave!
And oh! the last, last; what? can words express?
Thought reach it? the last — Silence of a Friend!"

NIGHT THE SECOND

Where is that Thrift, that Avarice of Time,
(O glorious Avarice!) thought of Death inspires,
As rumour'd robberies endear our Gold?
O Time! than Gold more sacred; more a Load
Than Lead, to Fools; and Fools reputed Wise.
What Moment granted Man without account?
What Years are squander'd, Wisdom's debt unpaid?
Our Wealth in Days all due to that discharge.
Haste, haste, He lies in wait, He's at the door,
Insidious Death! should his strong hand arrest,
No Composition sets the Prisoner free.
Eternity's inexorable chain
Fast binds; and Vengeance claims the full Arrear.
Ah! how unjust to Nature, and Himself,
Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent Man?
Like Children babling nonsense in their sports
We censure Nature for a Span too short;
That Span too short, we tax as tedious too,
Torture Invention, all Expedients tire,
To lash the ling'ring moments into speed;
And whirl us (happy riddance!) from ourselves
Art, brainless Art! our furious Charioteer
(For Nature's voice unstifled would recall)
Drives, headlong down towards the precipice of Death;
Death, most our Dread; Death thus more Dreadful made.
O what a Riddle of absurdity?
Leisure is pain; takes off our Chariot-wheels;
How heavily we drag the Load of Life?
Blest Leisure is our Curse, like that of Cain
It makes us wander; wander earth around
To fly that Tyrant, Thought. As Atlas groan'd
The world beneath, we groan beneath an Hour.
We cry for Mercy to the next Amusement;
The next Amusement mortgages our fields;
Slight inconvenience! Prisons hardly frown,
From hateful Time, if Prisons set us free.
Yet when Death kindly tenders us Relief,
We call him cruel; Years to Moments shrink,
Ages to Years: The Telescope is turn'd:
To man's false opticks (from his Folly false)
Time, in advance, behind him hides his Wings,
And seems to creep, decrepit with his Age;
Behold him, when past by; what then is seen
But his broad Pinions swifter than the winds?
And all Mankind, in Contradiction strong,
Ruefull, aghast! cry out on his Career.
*

All-sensual Man, because untouch'd, unseen,
He looks on Time, as nothing. Nothing else
Is truly Man's; tis Fortune's — Time's a God.
Hast Thou ne'er heard of Time's Omnipotence;
For, or against, what Wonders can He do?
And will: to stand blank Neuter He disdains
Not on those terms was Time, (Heaven's Stranger!) sent
On his important Embassy to Man.
Lorenzo! no: On the long-destin'd Hour,
From everlasting Ages growing ripe,
That memorable Hour of wond'rous Birth,
When the Dread Sire, on Emanation bent,
And big with Nature, rising in his might,
Call'd forth Creation, (for then Time was born),
By Godhead streaming thro' a thousand Worlds,
Not on those Terms, from the great days of Heaven,
From old Eternity's mysterious Orb,
Was Time cut off, and cast beneath the Skies;
The Skies, which watch him in his new abode,
Measuring his Motions by revolving Spheres;
That Horologe Machinery Divine.
Hours, Days, and Months, and Years, his Children, play,
Like numerous wings around him, as he flies:
Or, rather, as unequal Plumes, they shape
His ample Pinions, swift as darted Flame,
To gain his goal, to reach his ancient Rest,
And join anew Eternity his Sire;
In his Immutability to nest,
When Worlds, that count his Circles now, unhing'd,
(Fate the loud signal sounding) headlong rush
To timeless Night, and Chaos, whence they rose.
*

O Treacherous Conscience! when she seems to sleep,
On Rose and Myrtle, lull'd with Syren Song;
While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop
On headlong Appetite, the slackned rein,
And give us up to License, unrecall'd,
Unmarkt; — See, from behind her secret stand,
The sly Informer minutes every Fault,
And her dread Diary with Horror fills:
Not the gross Act alone employs her Pen;
She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band,
A watchful Foe! The formidable Spy,
List'ning o'erhears the Whispers of our Camp;
Our dawning Purposes of Heart explores,
And steals our Embryos of Iniquity.
As all-rapacious Usurers conceal
Their Doomsday book from all-consuming Heirs;
Thus, with Indulgence most severe, She treats
Us, Spendthrifts of inestimable Time;
Unnoted, notes each Moment misapply'd;
In leaves more durable than leaves of Brass,
Writes our whole History; which Death shall read
In every pale Delinquent's private Ear;
And Judgement publish; Publish to more worlds
Than this; and endless Age in groans resound.
Lorenzo, such that Sleeper in thy Breast!
Such is her Slumber; and her Vengeance such
For slighted Counsel; such thy future Peace!
And thin'st thou still canst be wise too soon?
But why on Time So lavish is my Song?
On this great Theme kind Nature keeps a School,
To teach her Sons Herself. Each Night we Dye,
Each Morn are born anew; Each Day, a Life!
And shall we kill each Day? If Trifling kills;
Sure Vice must butcher. O what heaps of slain
Cry out for Vengeance on us! Time destroy'd
Is Suicide, where more than Blood is spilt
Time flies, Death urges, Knells call, Heaven invites,
Hell threatens; All exerts; in Effort, All;
More than Creation labours! — Labours more?
And is there in Creation, What, amidst
This Tumult Universal, wing'd Dispatch;
And ardent Energy, supinely yawns? —
Man sleeps; and Man alone; and Man, whose Fate,
Fate irreversible, entire, extreme,
Endless, hair-hung, breeze-shaken, o'er the Gulph
A moment trembles; drops: and Man, for whom
All else is in alarm: Man, the sole Cause
Of this surrounding Storm! and yet he sleeps,
As the Storm rock'd to rest. — Throw Years away?
Throw Empires, and be blameless. Moments seize,
Heaven's on their Wing: a Moment we may wish,
When Worlds want Wealth to buy. Bid Day stand still,
Bid him drive back his Carr, and reimport
The Period past; regive the given hour.
Lorenzo, more than Miracles we want:
Lorenzo — O for Yesterdays to come!
*

Who venerate themselves, the World despise.
For what, gay friend! is this escutcheon'd World,
Which hangs out Death in one eternal Night?
A Night, that glooms us in the Noon-tide Ray,
And wraps our Thought, at Banquets, in the Shroud
Life's little stage is a small Eminence,
Inch-high the Grave above; that Home of Man,
Where dwells the Multitude, we gaze around;
We read their Monuments; we sigh; and while
We sigh, we sink; and are what we deplor'd;
Lamenting, or Lamented all our Lot!
*

Art thou so moor'd thou canst not disengage,
Nor give thy Thoughts a ply to future scenes?
Since, by Life's passing breath, blown up from Earth,
Light, as the Summer's dust, we take in Air
A Moment's giddy flight; and fall again;
Join the dull Mass, increase the trodden Soil,
And sleep till Earth herself shall be no more;
Since Then (as Emmets their small World o'erthrown)
We, sore-amaz'd, from out Earth's Ruins crawl,
And rise to Fate extreme, of Foul or Fair,
As Man's own Choice, Controuler of the Skies!
*

Hast thou no Friend to set thy mind abroach?
Good Sense will Stagnate: Thoughts shut up want Air,
And spoil, like Bales unopen'd to the Sun.
Had Thought been All, sweet Speech had been deny'd;
Speech, Thought's Canal! Speech, Thought's Criterion too!
Thought, in the Mine, may come forth Gold or Dross;
When coin'd in Word, we know its real worth.
If Sterling; store it for thy future Use;
'Twill buy thee Benefit; perhaps, Renown
Thought, too, deliver'd, is the more possest;
Teaching, we learn; and giving, we retain
The Births of Intellect: when dumb, forgot.
Speech ventilates our Intellectual fire;
Speech burnishes our Mental Magazine:
Brightens for Ornament; and whets for Use:
What Numbers, sheath'd in Erudition lie,
Plung'd to the Hilts in venerable Tomes,
And rusted in; who might have born an Edge,
And play'd a sprightly beam, if born to Speech;
If born blest Heirs of half their Mother's tongue?
'Tis Thought's exchange, which like th' alternate Push
Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned Scum,
And defecates the Student's standing Pool.
*

Whatever Farce the boastful Hero plays,
Virtue alone has Majesty in Death;
And greater still, the more the Tyrant frowns.
Philander! He severely frown'd on Thee.
" No warning given! Unceremonious Fate!
A suddain Rush from Life's meridian Joys!
A Wrench from all we Love! from all we are!
A restless bed of Pain! a Plunge opaque
Beyond Conjecture! Feeble Nature's dread!
Strong Reason's shudder at the dark Unknown!
A Sun extinguisht, a just opening Grave!
And oh! the last, last; what? can words express?
Thought reach it? the last — Silence of a Friend!"