The Poetical Works of Edward Young Part 3

Thou art all love, all mercy, all divine, And shall I make these glories cease to shine?

Shall sinful man grow great by his offence, And from its course turn back Omnipotence?

"Forbid it! and oh! grant, great G.o.d, at least This one, this slender, almost no request; When I have wept a thousand lives away, When torment is grown weary of its prey, When I have rav'd ten thousand years in fire, Ten thousand thousand, let me then expire."

Deep anguish! but too late; the hopeless soul, Bound to the bottom of the burning pool, Though loth, and ever loud blaspheming, owns He's justly doom'd to pour eternal groans; Enclos'd with horrors, and transfix'd with pain, Rolling in vengeance, struggling with his chain: To talk to fiery tempests; to implore The raging flame to give its burnings o'er; To toss, to writhe, to pant beneath his load, And bear the weight of an offended G.o.d.

The favour'd of their Judge, in triumph move To take possession of their thrones above; Satan's accurs'd desertion to supply, And fill the vacant stations of the sky; Again to kindle long-extinguish'd rays, And with new lights dilate the heavenly blaze; To crop the roses of immortal youth, And drink the fountain-head of sacred truth To swim in seas of bliss, to strike the string, And lift the voice to their Almighty King; To lose eternity in grateful lays, And fill heaven's wide circ.u.mference with praise.

But I attempt the wondrous height in vain, And leave unfinish'd the too lofty strain: What boldly I begin, let others end; My strength exhausted, fainting I descend, And choose a less, but no ign.o.ble, theme, Dissolving elements, and worlds, in flame.

The fatal period, the great hour, is come, And nature shrinks at her approaching doom; Loud peals of thunder give the sign, and all Heaven's terrors in array surround the ball; Sharp lightnings with the meteor's blaze conspire, And, darted downward, set the world on fire; Black rising clouds the thicken'd ether choke, And spiry flames dart through the rolling smoke, With keen vibrations cut the sullen night, And strike the darken'd sky with dreadful light; From heaven's four regions, with immortal force, Angels drive on the wind's impetuous course, T' enrage the flame: It spreads, it soars on high, Swells in the storm, and billows through the sky: Here winding pyramids of fire ascend, Cities and deserts in one ruin blend; Here blazing volumes wafted, overwhelm The s.p.a.cious face of a far distant realm; There, undermin'd, down rush eternal hills, The neighb'ring vales the vast destruction fills.

Hear'st thou that dreadful crack? that sound which broke Like peals of thunder, and the centre shook?

What wonders must that groan of nature tell?

Olympus there, and mightier Atlas, fell; Which seem'd above the reach of fate to stand, A tow'ring monument of G.o.d's right hand; Now dust and smoke, whose brow, so lately, spread O'er shelter'd countries its diffusive shade.

Show me that celebrated spot, where all The various rulers of the sever'd ball Have humbly sought wealth, honour, and redress, That land which heaven seem'd diligent to bless, Once call'd Britannia: can her glories end?

And can't surrounding seas her realms defend?

Alas! in flames behold surrounding seas!

Like oil, their waters but augment the blaze.

Some angel say, where ran proud Asia's bound?

Or where with fruits was fair Europa crown'd?

Where stretch'd waste Lybia? Where did India's sh.o.r.e Sparkle in diamonds, and her golden ore?

Each lost in each, their mingling kingdoms glow, And all dissolv'd, one fiery deluge flow: Thus earth's contending monarchies are join'd, And a full period of ambition find.

And now whate'er or swims, or walks, or flies, Inhabitants of sea, or earth, or skies; All on whom Adam's wisdom fix'd a name, All plunge, and perish in the conquering flame.

This globe alone would but defraud the fire, Starve its devouring rage: the flakes aspire, And catch the clouds, and make the heavens their prey; The sun, the moon, the stars, all melt away; All, all is lost; no monument, no sign, Where once so proudly blaz'd the gay machine.

So bubbles on the foaming stream expire, So sparks that scatter from the kindling fire; The devastations of one dreadful hour The great Creator's six days' work devour.

A mighty, mighty ruin! yet one soul Has more to boast, and far outweighs the whole Exalted in superior excellence, Casts down to nothing, such a vast expense.

Have you not seen th' eternal mountains nod, An earth dissolving, a descending G.o.d?

What strange surprises through all nature ran?

For whom these revolutions, but for man?

For him, Omnipotence new measures takes, For him, through all eternity, awakes; Pours on him gifts sufficient to supply Heaven's loss, and with fresh glories fill the sky.

Think deeply then, O man, how great thou art; Pay thyself homage with a trembling heart; What angels guard, no longer dare neglect, Slighting thyself, affront not G.o.d's respect.

Enter the sacred temple of thy breast, And gaze, and wander there, a ravish'd guest; Gaze on those hidden treasures thou shalt find, Wander through all the glories of thy mind.

Of perfect knowledge, see, the dawning light Foretells a noon most exquisitely bright!

Here, springs of endless joy are breaking forth!

There, buds the promise of celestial worth!

Worth, which must ripen in a happier clime, And brighter sun, beyond the bounds of time.

Thou, minor, canst not guess thy vast estate, What stores, on foreign coasts, thy landing wait: Lose not thy claim, let virtue's path be trod; Thus glad all heaven, and please that bounteous G.o.d, Who, to light thee to pleasures, hung on high Yon radiant orb, proud regent of the sky: That service done, its beams shall fade away, And G.o.d shine forth in one eternal day.

THE FORCE OF RELIGION; OR, VANQUISHED LOVE.

Gratior et pulchro veniens in corpore virtus.

-VIRG.

Book I.

--Ad clum ardentia lumina tollens, Lumina; nam teneras arcebant vincula palmas.

VIRG.

From lofty themes, from thoughts that soar'd on high, And open'd wondrous scenes above the sky, My muse descend: indulge my fond desire; With softer thoughts my melting soul inspire, And smooth my numbers to a female's praise: A partial world will listen to my lays, While Anna reigns, and sets a female name Unrival'd in the glorious lists of fame.

Hear, ye fair daughters of this happy land, Whose radiant eyes the vanquish'd world command, Virtue is beauty: but when charms of mind With elegance of outward form are join'd; When youth makes such bright objects still more bright, And fortune sets them in the strongest light; 'Tis all of heaven that we below may view, And all, but adoration, is your due.

Fam'd female virtue did this isle adorn, Ere Ormond, or her glorious queen, was born: When now Maria's powerful arms prevail'd, And haughty Dudley's bold ambition fail'd, The beauteous daughter of great Suffolk's race, In blooming youth adorn'd with every grace; Who gain'd a crown by treason not her own, And innocently fill'd another's throne; Hurl'd from the summit of imperial state, With equal mind sustain'd the stroke of fate.

But how will Guilford, her far dearer part, With manly reason fortify his heart?

At once she longs, and is afraid, to know: Now swift she moves, and now advances slow, To find her lord; and, finding, pa.s.ses by, Silent with fear, nor dares she meet his eye; Lest that, unask'd, in speechless grief, disclose The mournful secret of his inward woes.

Thus, after sickness, doubtful of her face, The melancholy virgin shuns the gla.s.s.

At length, with troubled thought, but look serene, And sorrow soften'd by her heavenly mien, She clasps her lord, brave, beautiful, and young, While tender accents melt upon her tongue; Gentle, and sweet, as vernal zephyr blows, Fanning the lily, or the blooming rose.

"Grieve not, my lord; a crown indeed is lost; What far outshines a crown, we still may boast; A mind compos'd; a mind that can disdain A fruitless sorrow for a loss so vain.

Nothing is loss that virtue can improve To wealth eternal; and return above; Above, where no distinction shall be known 'Twixt him whom storms have shaken from a throne, And him, who, basking in the smiles of fate, Shone forth in all the splendour of the great: Nor can I find the diff'rence here below; I lately was a queen; I still am so, While Guilford's wife: thee rather I obey, Than o'er mankind extend imperial sway.

When we lie down in some obscure retreat, Incens'd Maria may her rage forget; And I to death my duty will improve, And what you miss in empire, add in love- Your G.o.dlike soul is open'd in your look, And I have faintly your great meaning spoke, For this alone I'm pleas'd I wore the crown, To find with what content we lay it down.

Heroes may win, but 't is a heavenly race Can quit a throne with a becoming grace."

Thus spoke the fairest of her s.e.x, and cheer'd Her drooping lord; whose boding bosom fear'd A darker cloud of ills would burst, and shed Severer vengeance on her guiltless head: Too just, alas, the terrors which he felt!

For, lo! a guard!-Forgive him, if he melt- How sharp her pangs, when sever'd from his side, The most sincerely lov'd, and loving bride, In s.p.a.ce confin'd, the muse forbears to tell; Deep was her anguish, but she bore it well.

His pain was equal, but his virtue less; He thought in grief there could be no excess.

Pensive he sat, o'ercast with gloomy care, And often fondly clasp'd his absent fair; Now, silent, wander'd thro' his rooms of state, And sicken'd at the pomp, and tax'd his fate; Which thus adorn'd, in all her shining store, A splendid wretch, magnificently poor.

Now on the bridal-bed his eyes were cast, And anguish fed on his enjoyments past; Each recollected pleasure made him smart, And every transport stabb'd him to the heart.

That happy moon, which summon'd to delight, That moon which shone on his dear nuptial night, Which saw him fold her yet untasted charms (Denied to princes) in his longing arms; Now sees the transient blessing fleet away, Empire and love! the vision of a day.

Thus, in the British clime, a summer-storm Will oft the smiling face of heaven deform; The winds with violence at once descend, Sweep flowers and fruits, and make the forest bend; A sudden winter, while the sun is near, O'ercomes the season, and inverts the year.

But whither is the captive borne away, The beauteous captive, from the cheerful day?

The scene is chang'd indeed; before her eyes Ill boding looks and unknown horrors rise: For pomp and splendour, for her guard and crown, A gloomy dungeon, and a keeper's frown: Black thoughts, each morn, invade the lover's breast, Each night, a ruffian locks the queen to rest.

Ah mournful change, if judg'd by vulgar minds!

But Suffolk's daughter its advantage finds.

Religion's force divine is best display'd In deep desertion of all human aid: To succour in extremes, is her delight, And cheer the heart, when terror strikes the sight.

We, disbelieving our own senses, gaze, And wonder what a mortal's heart can raise To triumph o'er misfortunes, smile in grief, And comfort those who come to bring relief: We gaze; and as we gaze, wealth, fame, decay, And all the world's vain glories fade away.

Against her cares she rais'd a dauntless mind, And with an ardent heart, but most resign'd, Deep in the dreadful gloom, with pious heat, Amid the silence of her dark retreat, Address'd her G.o.d,-"Almighty power divine!

'Tis thine to raise, and to depress, is thine; With honour to light up the name unknown, Or to put out the l.u.s.tre of a throne.

In my short span both fortunes I have prov'd, And though with ill frail nature will be mov'd, I'll bear it well: (O strengthen me to bear!) And if my piety may claim thy care; If I remember'd, in youth's giddy heat, And tumult of a court, a future state; O favour, when thy mercy I implore For one who never guilty sceptre bore!

'Twas I receiv'd the crown; my lord is free; If it must fall, let vengeance fall on me.

Let him survive, his country's name to raise, And in a guilty land to speak thy praise!

O may th' indulgence of a father's love, Pour'd forth on me, be doubled from above!

If these are safe, I'll think my prayers succeed, And bless thy tender mercies, whilst I bleed."

'Twas now the mournful eve before that day In which the queen to her full wrath gave way; Thro' rigid justice, rush'd into offence, And drank in zeal the blood of innocence: The sun went down in clouds, and seem'd to mourn The sad necessity of his return; The hollow wind, and melancholy rain, Or did, or was imagin'd to, complain: The tapers cast an inauspicious light; Stars there were none, and doubly dark the night.

Sweet innocence in chains can take her rest; Soft slumber gently creeping through her breast, She sinks; and in her sleep is reinthron'd, Mock'd by a gaudy dream, and vainly crown'd.

She views her fleets and armies, seas and land, And stretches wide her shadow of command: With royal purple is her vision hung; By phantom hosts are shouts of conquest rung; Low at her feet the suppliant rival lies; Our prisoner mourns her fate, and bids her rise.

Now level beams upon the waters play'd, Glanc'd on the hills, and westward cast the shade; The busy trades in city had began To sound, and speak the painful life of man.

In tyrants' b.r.e.a.s.t.s the thoughts of vengeance rouse, And the fond bridegroom turns him to his spouse.

At this first birth of light, while morning breaks, Our spouseless bride, our widow'd wife, awakes; Awakes, and smiles; nor night's imposture blames; Her real pomps were little more than dreams; A short-liv'd blaze, a lightning quickly o'er, That died in birth, that shone, and were no more: She turns her side, and soon resumes a state Of mind, well suited to her alter'd fate, Serene, though serious; when dread tidings come (Ah wretched Guilford!) of her instant doom.

Sun, hide thy beams; in clouds as black as night Thy face involve; be guiltless of the sight; Or haste more swiftly to the western main; Nor let her blood the conscious daylight stain!

Oh! how severe! to fall so new a bride, Yet blushing from the priest, in youthful pride; When time had just matur'd each perfect grace, And open'd all the wonders of her face!

To leave her Guilford dead to all relief, Fond of his woe, and obstinate in grief.

Unhappy fair! whatever fancy drew, (Vain promis'd blessings,) vanish from her view; No train of cheerful days, endearing nights, No sweet domestic joys, and chaste delights; Pleasures that blossom e'en from doubts and fears; And bliss and rapture rising out of cares: No little Guilford, with paternal grace, Lull'd on her knee, or smiling in her face; Who, when her dearest father shall return, From pouring tears on her untimely urn, Might comfort to his silver hairs impart, And fill her place in his indulgent heart: As where fruits fall, quick rising blossoms smile, And the bless'd Indian of his care beguile, In vain these various reasons jointly press, To blacken death, and heighten her distress; She, thro' th' encircling terrors darts her sight To the bless'd regions of eternal light, And fills her soul with peace: to weeping friends Her father, and her lord, she recommends; Unmov'd herself: her foes her air survey, And rage to see their malice thrown away.

She soars; now nought on earth detains her care-- But Guilford; who still struggles for his share.

Still will his form importunately rise, Clog and r.e.t.a.r.d her transport to the skies; As trembling flames now take a feeble flight, Now catch the brand with a returning light, Thus her soul onward from the seats above Falls fondly back, and kindles into love: At length she conquers in the doubtful field; That heaven she seeks will be her Guilford's shield.

Now death is welcome; his approach is slow; 'Tis tedious longer to expect the blow.