Part 25 (1/2)

Grief softens hearts, and curbs the will, Impetuous pa.s.sion tames, And keeps insatiate, keen desire From launching in extremes.

Through time's dark womb, our judgment right, If our dim eye was thrown, Clear should we see, the will divine Has but forestall'd our own;

At variance with our future wish, Self-sever'd we complain; If so, the wounded, not the wound, Must answer for the pain:

The day shall come, and swift of wing, Though you may think it slow, When, in the list of fortune's smiles, You'll enter frowns of woe.

For mark the path of Providence; This course it has pursued- ”Pain is the parent, woe the womb, Of sound, important good:”

Our hearts are fasten'd to this world By strong and endless ties: And every sorrow cuts a string, And urges us to rise:

'Twill sound severe-Yet rest a.s.sur'd I'm studious of your peace; Though I should dare to give you joy- Yes, joy of his decease:

An hour shall come, (you question this,) An hour, when you shall bless, Beyond the brightest beams of life, Dark days of your distress.

Hear then without surprise a truth, A daughter truth to this, Swift turns of fortune often tie A bleeding heart to bliss:

Esteem you this a paradox?

My sacred motto read; A glorious truth! divinely sung By one, whose heart had bled;

To resignation swift he flew, In her a friend he found, A friend, which bless'd him with a smile When gasping with his wound.

On earth nought precious is obtain'd But what is painful too; By travel, and to travel born, Our sabbaths are but few:

To real joy we work our way, Encountering many a shock, Ere found what truly charms; as found A Venus in the block.

In some disaster, some severe Appointment for our sins, That mother blessing, (not so call'd,) True happiness, begins.

No martyr e'er defied the flames, By stings of life unvext; First rose some quarrel with this world, Then pa.s.sion for the next.

You see, then, pangs are parent pangs, The pangs of happy birth; Pangs, by which only can be born True happiness on earth.

The peopled earth look all around, Or through time's records run!

And say, what is a man unstruck?

It is a man undone.

This moment, am I deeply stung- My bold pretence is tried; When vain man boasts, heaven puts to proof The vauntings of his pride;

Now need I, madam! your support.- How exquisite the smart; How critically tim'd the news(50) Which strikes me to the heart!

The pangs of which I spoke, I feel: If worth like thine is born, O long-belov'd! I bless the blow, And triumph, whilst I mourn.

Nor mourn I long; by grief subdued, By reason's empire shown; Deep anguish comes by heaven's decree, Continues by our own;

And when continued past its point, Indulg'd in length of time, Grief is disgrac'd, and, what was fate, Corrupts into a crime:

And shall I, criminally mean, Myself and subject wrong?

No; my example shall support The subject of my song.

Madam! I grant your loss is great; Nor little is your gain?

Let that be weigh'd; when weigh'd aright, It richly pays your pain: