Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

And o'er the path by mortal never trod,

Sprung to her fource, the bofom of her God!

Oh! lives there, Heav'n! beneath thy dread expanfe,

One hopeless, dark Idolater of Chance,

296

Content to feed, with pleasures unrefin❜d,

The lukewarm paffions of a lowly mind;

Who, mould'ring earthward, 'reft of every trust,

In joylefs union wedded to the duft,

300

Could all his parting energy difmifs,

And call this barren world fufficient blifs ?

There live, alas! of Heav'n-directed mien,

Of cultur❜d foul, and fapient eye ferene,

Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of a day,

Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay !

305

Frail as the leaf in Autumn's yellow bower,
Duft in the wind, or dew upon the flower!
A friendlefs flave, a child without a fire,

Whofe mortal life, and momentary fire,

310

Lights to the grave his chance-created form,
As ocean-wrecks illuminate the storm;
And, when the gun's tremendous flash is o'er,
To Night and Silence fink for ever more !—

Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim,
Lights of the world, and demi-gods of Fame?
Is this your triumph-this your proud applause,
Children of Truth, and champions of her cause?
For this hath Science fearch'd, on weary wing,
By fhore and fea-each mute and living thing?

315

320

Launch'd with Iberia's pilot from the steep,

To worlds unknown, and ifles beyond the deep?
Or round the cope her living chariot driv❜n,

And wheel'd in triumph through the figns of Heav'n?

Oh! ftar-ey'd Science, haft thou wander'd there,

325

To waft us home the meffage of despair?

Then bind the palm, thy fage's brow to fuit,
Of blafted leaf, and death-diftilling fruit!

Ah me! the laurel'd wreath that murder rears,
Blood-nurs'd, and water'd by the widow's tears,
Seems not fo foul, so tainted, and so dread,

As waves the night-shade round the sceptic head.
What is the bigot's torch, the tyrant's chain?

I fmile on death, if Heav'n-ward Hope remain !

But, if the warring winds of Nature's strife

Be all the faithlefs charter of my life,

330

335

If Chance awak'd, inexorable pow'r !

This frail and fev'rish being of an hour,

Doom'd o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep,

Swift as the tempeft travels on the deep,
To know Delight but by her parting fmile,
And toil, and wish, and weep, a little while;
Then melt, ye elements, that form'd in vain

This troubled pulfe, and vifionary brain!

wild flowers, memorials of my

doom!

Fade, ye
And fink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb !

Truth, ever lovely, fince the world began,
The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man,—
How can thy words from balmy flumber start
Repofing Virtue, pillow'd on the heart!

Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder roll'd,

And that were true which Nature never told;

340

345

350

Let Wisdom fmile not on her conquer'd field

No rapture dawns, no treasure is reveal'd!
Oh! let her read, nor loudly, nor elate,

355

The doom that bars us from a better fate;

But, fad as angels for the good man's fin,

Weep to record, and blush to give it in!

And well may Doubt, the mother of Difmay,

Pause at her martyr's tomb, and read the lay,

1

Down by the wilds of yon deferted vale,

It darkly hints a melancholy tale !

There, as the homeless madman fits alone,

In hollow winds he hears a spirit moan!

And there, they fay, a wizard orgie crowds,

When the moon lights her watch-tower in the clouds.

360

365

« ZurückWeiter »