Part 32 (2/2)

Postscript.

Thus have I written, when to write No mortal should presume; Or only write, what none can blame, Hic jacet-for his tomb:

The public frowns, and censures loud My puerile employ; Though just the censure, if you smile, The scandal I enjoy;

But sing no more-no more I sing Or rea.s.sume the lyre, Unless vouchsaf'd an humble part Where Raphael leads the choir:

What myriads swell the concert loud!

Their golden harps resound High as the footstool of the throne, And deep as h.e.l.l profound:

h.e.l.l (horrid contrast!) chord and song Of raptur'd angels drowns In self-will's peal of blasphemies, And hideous burst of groans;

But drowns them not to me; I hear Harmonious thunders roll (In language low of men to speak) From echoing pole to pole!

Whilst this grand chorus shakes the skies- ”Above, beneath the sun, Through boundless age, by men, by G.o.ds, Jehovah's will be done!”

'Tis done in heaven; whence headlong hurl'd Self-will with Satan fell; And must from earth be banish'd too, Or earth's another h.e.l.l;

Madam! self-will inflicts your pains: Self-will's the deadly foe Which deepens all the dismal shades, And points the shafts of woe:

Your debt to nature fully paid, Now virtue claims her due: But virtue's cause I need not plead, 'Tis safe; I write to you:

You know, that virtue's basis lies In ever judging right; And wiping error's clouds away, Which dim the mental sight:

Why mourn the dead? you wrong the grave, From storm that safe resort; We still are tossing out at sea, Our admiral in port.

Was death denied, this world, a scene How dismal and forlorn!

To death we owe, that 'tis to man A blessing to be born;

When every other blessing fails, Or sapp'd by slow decay, Or, storm'd by sudden blasts of fate, Is swiftly whirl'd away;

How happy! that no storm, or time, Of death can rob the just!

None pluck from their unaching heads Soft pillows in the dust!

Well pleas'd to bear heaven's darkest frown, Your utmost power employ; 'Tis n.o.ble chemistry to turn Necessity to joy.

Whate'er the colour of my fate, My fate shall be my choice: Determin'd am I, whilst I breathe, To praise and to rejoice;

What ample cause! triumphant hope!

O rich eternity!

I start not at a world in flames, Charm'd with one glimpse of thee:

And thou! its great inhabitant!

How glorious dost thou s.h.i.+ne!

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