Young's Night Thoughts Part 2

Alternately transported and alarm'd!

What can preserve my life, or what destroy?

An angel's arm can't s.n.a.t.c.h me from the grave; Legions of angels can't confine me there. 90 'Tis past conjecture; all things rise in proof: While o'er my limbs sleep's soft dominion spread, What though my soul fantastic measures trod O'er fairy fields; or mourn'd along the gloom Of pathless woods; or down the craggy steep Hurl'd headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool; Or scaled the cliff; or danced on hollow winds, With antic shapes, wild natives of the brain?

Her ceaseless flight, though devious, speaks her nature Of subtler essence than the trodden clod; 100 Active, aerial, towering, unconfined, Unfetter'd with her gross companion's fall.

Even silent night proclaims my soul immortal: Even silent night proclaims eternal day.

For human weal, Heaven husbands all events; Dull sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain.

Why then their loss deplore that are not lost?

Why wanders wretched thought their tombs around, In infidel distress? Are angels there?

Slumbers, raked up in dust, ethereal fire? 110 They live! they greatly live a life on earth Unkindled, unconceived; and from an eye Of tenderness let heavenly pity fall On me, more justly number'd with the dead.

This is the desert, this the solitude: How populous, how vital, is the grave!

This is creation's melancholy vault, 117 The vale funereal, the sad cypress gloom; The land of apparitions, empty shades!

All, all on earth, is shadow, all beyond Is substance; the reverse is Folly's creed: How solid all, where change shall be no more!

This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, 123 The twilight of our day, the vestibule; Life's theatre as yet is shut, and death, Strong death, alone can heave the ma.s.sy bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, And make us embryos of existence free.

From real life, but little more remote Is he, not yet a candidate for light, 130 The future embryo, slumbering in his sire.

Embryos we must be, till we burst the sh.e.l.l, Yon ambient azure sh.e.l.l, and spring to life, The life of G.o.ds, O transport! and of man.

Yet man, fool man! here buries all his thoughts; Inters celestial hopes without one sigh.

Prisoner of earth, and pent beneath the moon, Here pinions all his wishes; wing'd by heaven To fly at infinite; and reach it there, Where seraphs gather immortality, 140 On life's fair tree, fast by the throne of G.o.d.

What golden joys ambrosial cl.u.s.tering glow In His full beam, and ripen for the just, Where momentary ages are no more!

Where time, and pain, and chance, and death, expire!

And is it in the flight of threescore years To push eternity from human thought, And smother souls immortal in the dust?

A soul immortal, spending all her fires, Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness 150 Thrown into tumult, raptured, or alarm'd, 151 At aught this scene can threaten or indulge, Resembles ocean into tempest wrought, To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.

Where falls this censure? It o'erwhelms myself; How was my heart encrusted by the world!

O how self-fetter'd was my grovelling soul!

How, like a worm, was I wrapt round and round In silken thought, which reptile fancy spun, Till darken'd reason lay quite clouded o'er 160 With soft conceit of endless comfort here, Nor yet put forth her wings to reach the skies!

Night-visions may befriend (as sung above): Our waking dreams are fatal. How I dream'd Of things impossible! (could sleep do more?) Of joys perpetual in perpetual change!

Of stable pleasures on the tossing wave!

Eternal sunshine in the storms of life!

How richly were my noontide trances hung With gorgeous tapestries of pictured joys! 170 Joy behind joy, in endless perspective!

Till at death's toll, whose restless iron tongue Calls daily for his millions at a meal, Starting I woke, and found myself undone.

Where now my phrensy's pompous furniture?

The cobwebb'd cottage, with its ragged wall Of mouldering mud, is royalty to me!

The spider's most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie On earthly bliss; it breaks at every breeze. 180 O ye blest scenes of permanent delight!

Full above measure! lasting beyond bound!

A perpetuity of bliss is bliss.

Could you, so rich in rapture, fear an end, That ghastly thought would drink up all your joy, 185 And quite unparadise the realms of light.

Safe are you lodged above these rolling spheres; The baleful influence of whose giddy dance Sheds sad vicissitude on all beneath.

Here teems with revolutions every hour; And rarely for the better; or the best, More mortal than the common births of fate.

Each moment has its sickle, emulous 193 Of Time's enormous scythe, whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root; each moment plays His little weapon in the narrower sphere Of sweet domestic comfort, and cuts down The fairest bloom of sublunary bliss.

Bliss! sublunary bliss!--proud words, and vain!

Implicit treason to divine decree! 200 A bold invasion of the rights of Heaven!

I clasp'd the phantoms, and I found them air.

Oh! had I weigh'd it ere my fond embrace, What darts of agony had miss'd my heart!

Death! great proprietor of all! 'tis thine To tread out empire, and to quench the stars.

The sun himself by thy permission shines; And, one day, thou shalt pluck him from his sphere.

Amid such mighty plunder, why exhaust Thy partial quiver on a mark so mean? 210 Why thy peculiar rancour wreak'd on me?

Insatiate archer! could not one suffice?

Thy shaft flew thrice;[2] and thrice my peace was slain; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her horn.

O Cynthia! why so pale? dost thou lament Thy wretched neighbour? grieve to see thy wheel Of ceaseless change outwhirl'd in human life? 217 How wanes my borrow'd bliss! from fortune's smile, Precarious courtesy! not virtue's sure, Self-given, solar ray of sound delight.

In every varied posture, place, and hour, How widow'd every thought of every joy!

Thought, busy thought! too busy for my peace!

Through the dark postern of time long lapsed, 224 Led softly, by the stillness of the night, Led, like a murderer, (and such it proves!) Strays (wretched rover!) o'er the pleasing past; In quest of wretchedness perversely strays; And finds all desert now; and meets the ghosts Of my departed joys; a numerous train! 230 I rue the riches of my former fate; Sweet comfort's blasted cl.u.s.ters I lament; I tremble at the blessings once so dear; And every pleasure pains me to the heart.

Yet why complain? or why complain for one?

Hangs out the sun his l.u.s.tre but for me, The single man? Are angels all beside?

I mourn for millions: 'tis the common lot; In this shape, or in that, has fate entail'd The mother's throes on all of woman born, 240 Not more the children, than sure heirs, of pain.

War, famine, pest, volcano, storm, and fire, Intestine broils, oppression, with her heart Wrapt up in triple bra.s.s, besiege mankind.

G.o.d's image disinherited of day, Here, plunged in mines, forgets a sun was made.

There, beings deathless as their haughty lord, Are hammer'd to the galling oar for life; And plough the winter's wave, and reap despair.

Some, for hard masters, broken under arms, 250 In battle lopp'd away, with half their limbs, 251 Beg bitter bread through realms their valour saved, If so the tyrant, or his minion, doom.

Want and incurable disease (fell pair!) On hopeless mult.i.tudes remorseless seize At once; and make a refuge of the grave.

How groaning hospitals eject their dead!

What numbers groan for sad admission there!

What numbers, once in fortune's lap high-fed, Solicit the cold hand of charity! 260 To shock us more, solicit it in vain!

Ye silken sons of pleasure! since in pains Ye rue more modish visits, visit here, And breathe from your debauch: give, and reduce Surfeit's dominion o'er you: but so great Your impudence, you blush at what is right.

Happy, did sorrow seize on such alone!

Not prudence can defend, or virtue save; Disease invades the chastest temperance; And punishment the guiltless; and alarm, 270 Through thickest shades pursues the fond of peace.

Man's caution often into danger turns, And his guard falling, crushes him to death.

Not happiness itself makes good her name!

Our very wishes give us not our wish.

How distant oft the thing we doat on most, From that for which we doat, felicity!

The smoothest course of nature has its pains; And truest friends, through error, wound our rest.

Without misfortune, what calamities! 280 And what hostilities, without a foe!

Nor are foes wanting to the best on earth.

But endless is the list of human ills, And sighs might sooner fail, than cause to sigh.

A part how small of the terraqueous globe 285 Is tenanted by man! the rest a waste, Rocks, deserts, frozen seas, and burning sands: Wild haunts of monsters, poisons, stings, and death.

Such is earth's melancholy map! But, far More sad! this earth is a true map of man.

So bounded are its haughty lord's delights To woe's wide empire; where deep troubles toss, Loud sorrows howl, envenom'd pa.s.sions bite, 293 Ravenous calamities our vitals seize, And threatening fate wide opens to devour.

What then am I, who sorrow for myself?

In age, in infancy, from others' aid Is all our hope; to teach us to be kind.

That, nature's first, last lesson to mankind; The selfish heart deserves the pain it feels; 300 More generous sorrow, while it sinks, exalts; And conscious virtue mitigates the pang.

Nor virtue, more than prudence, bids me give Swoln thought a second channel; who divide, They weaken, too, the torrent of their grief.

Take then, O world! thy much-indebted tear: How sad a sight is human happiness, To those whose thought can pierce beyond an hour!

O thou! whate'er thou art, whose heart exults!

Would'st thou I should congratulate thy fate? 310 I know thou would'st; thy pride demands it from me.

Let thy pride pardon, what thy nature needs, The salutary censure of a friend.

Thou happy wretch! by blindness thou art blest; By dotage dandled to perpetual smiles.

Know, smiler! at thy peril art thou pleased; Thy pleasure is the promise of thy pain.

Misfortune, like a creditor severe, But rises in demand for her delay; 319 She makes a scourge of past prosperity, To sting thee more, and double thy distress.

Lorenzo, Fortune makes her court to thee, Thy fond heart dances, while the syren sings.

Dear is thy welfare; think me not unkind; I would not damp, but to secure thy joys.

Think not that fear is sacred to the storm: Stand on thy guard against the smiles of fate.

Is Heaven tremendous in its frowns? Most sure; And in its favours formidable too: Its favours here are trials, not rewards; 330 A call to duty, not discharge from care; And should alarm us, full as much as woes; Awake us to their cause, and consequence; O'er our scann'd conduct give a jealous eye, And make us tremble, weigh'd with our desert; Awe nature's tumult, and chastise her joys, Lest, while we clasp, we kill them; nay, invert To worse than simple misery, their charms.

Revolted joys, like foes in civil war, Like bosom friendships to resentment sour'd, 340 With rage envenom'd rise against our peace.

Beware what earth calls happiness; beware All joys, but joys that never can expire.

Who builds on less than an immortal base, Fond as he seems, condemns his joys to death.

Mine died with thee, Philander![3] thy last sigh Dissolved the charm; the disenchanted earth Lost all her l.u.s.tre. Where her glittering towers?

Her golden mountains, where? all darken'd down To naked waste; a dreary vale of tears: 350 The great magician's dead! Thou poor, pale piece Of outcast earth, in darkness! what a change 352 From yesterday! Thy darling hope so near (Long-labour'd prize!), O how ambition flush'd Thy glowing cheek! ambition truly great, Of virtuous praise. Death's subtle seed within (Sly, treacherous miner!), working in the dark, Smiled at thy well-concerted scheme, and beckon'd The worm to riot on that rose so red, Unfaded ere it fell; one moment's prey! 360 Man's foresight is conditionally wise; Lorenzo![4] wisdom into folly turns Oft, the first instant, its idea fair To labouring thought is born. How dim our eye!

The present moment terminates our sight; Clouds thick as those on doomsday, drown the next; We penetrate, we prophesy in vain.

Time is dealt out by particles; and each, Ere mingled with the streaming sands of life, By fate's inviolable oath is sworn 370 Deep silence, "where eternity begins."

By nature's law, what may be, may be now; There's no prerogative in human hours.

In human hearts what bolder thought can rise, Than man's presumption on to-morrow's dawn!