Young's Night Thoughts Part 8

Refusal! canst thou wear a smoother form?

Indulge me, nor conceive I drop my theme: Who cheapens life, abates the fear of death: Twice told the period spent on stubborn Troy, Court favour, yet untaken, I besiege; Ambition's ill-judged effort to be rich.

Alas! ambition makes my little less; Embittering the possess'd: Why wish for more? 70 Wishing, of all employments, is the worst; Philosophy's reverse; and health's decay!

Were I as plump as stall'd theology, Wishing would waste me to this shade again.

Were I as wealthy as a South Sea dream, Wishing is an expedient to be poor.

Wishing, that constant hectic of a fool; Caught at a court; purged off by purer air, And simpler diet; gifts of rural life!

Bless'd be that hand divine, which gently laid 80 My heart at rest, beneath this humble shed.

The world's a stately bark, on dangerous seas, With pleasure seen, but boarded at our peril; Here, on a single plank, thrown safe ash.o.r.e, I hear the tumult of the distant throng, As that of seas remote, or dying storms: And meditate on scenes, more silent still; Pursue my theme, and fight the fear of death. 88 Here, like a shepherd gazing from his hut, Touching his reed, or leaning on his staff, Eager ambition's fiery chace I see; I see the circling hunt, of noisy men, Burst law's enclosure, leap the mounds of right, Pursuing, and pursued, each other's prey; As wolves, for rapine; as the fox, for wiles; Till Death, that mighty hunter, earths them all.

Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour?

What though we wade in wealth, or soar in fame?

Earth's highest station ends in "Here he lies:"

And "Dust to dust" concludes her n.o.blest song. 100 If this song lives, posterity shall know One, though in Britain born, with courtiers bred, Who thought even gold might come a day too late; Nor on his subtle death-bed plann'd his scheme For future vacancies in Church or State; Some avocation deeming it--to die, Unbit by rage canine of dying rich; Guilt's blunder! and the loudest laugh of h.e.l.l.

O my coevals! remnants of yourselves!

Poor human ruins, tottering o'er the grave! 110 Shall we, shall aged men, like aged trees, Strike deeper their vile root, and closer cling, Still more enamour'd of this wretched soil?

Shall our pale, wither'd hands, be still stretch'd out, Trembling, at once, with eagerness and age?

With avarice, and convulsions, grasping hard?

Grasping at air! for what has earth beside?

Man wants but little; nor that little, long; How soon must he resign his very dust, Which frugal nature lent him for an hour! 120 Years unexperienced rush on numerous ills; And soon as man, expert from time, has found 122 The key of life, it opes the gates of death.

When in this vale of years I backward look, And miss such numbers, numbers too of such, Firmer in health, and greener in their age, And stricter on their guard, and fitter far To play life's subtle game, I scarce believe I still survive: and am I fond of life, Who scarce can think it possible, I live? 130 Alive by miracle! or, what is next, Alive by Mead! if I am still alive, Who long have buried what gives life to live, Firmness of nerve, and energy of thought.

Life's lee is not more shallow, than impure, And vapid; sense and reason show the door, Call for my bier, and point me to the dust.

O thou great arbiter of life and death!

Nature's immortal, immaterial Sun!

Whose all-prolific beam late call'd me forth 140 From darkness, teeming darkness, where I lay The worm's inferior, and, in rank, beneath The dust I tread on, high to bear my brow, To drink the spirit of the golden day, And triumph in existence; and could know No motive, but my bliss; and hast ordain'd A rise in blessing! with the patriarch's joy, Thy call I follow to the land unknown; I trust in thee, and know in whom I trust; Or life, or death, is equal; neither weighs: 150 All weight in this--O let me live to thee!

Though nature's terrors thus may be repress'd; Still frowns grim Death; guilt points the tyrant's spear.

And whence all human guilt? From death forgot.

Ah me! too long I set at nought the swarm Of friendly warnings, which around me flew; 156 And smiled, unsmitten: small my cause to smile!

Death's admonitions, like shafts upwards shot, More dreadful by delay, the longer ere They strike our hearts, the deeper is their wound; O think how deep, Lorenzo! here it stings: Who can appease its anguish? How it burns! 162 What hand the barb'd, envenom'd thought can draw?

What healing hand can pour the balm of peace?

And turn my sight undaunted on the tomb?

With joy,--with grief, that healing hand I see; Ah! too conspicuous! it is fix'd on high.

On high?--What means my phrensy? I blaspheme; Alas! how low! how far beneath the skies!

The skies it form'd; and now it bleeds for me-- 170 But bleeds the balm I want--yet still it bleeds; Draw the dire steel--ah, no! the dreadful blessing What heart or can sustain, or dares forego?

There hangs all human hope: that nail supports The falling universe: that gone, we drop; Horror receives us, and the dismal wish Creation had been smother'd in her birth-- Darkness his curtain, and his bed the dust; When stars and sun are dust beneath his throne!

In heaven itself can such indulgence dwell? 180 Oh, what a groan was there! a groan not his.

He seized our dreadful right; the load sustained; And heaved the mountain from a guilty world.

A thousand worlds, so bought, were bought too dear; Sensations new in angels' bosoms rise; Suspend their song; and make a pause in bliss.

O for their song, to reach my lofty theme!

Inspire me, Night! with all thy tuneful spheres; Whilst I with seraphs share seraphic themes, And show to men the dignity of man; 190 Lest I blaspheme my subject with my song.

Shall Pagan pages glow celestial flame, And Christian languish? On our hearts, not heads, Falls the foul infamy: my heart! awake.

What can awake thee, unawaked by this, "Expended deity on human weal?"

Feel the great truths, which burst the tenfold night Of heathen error, with a golden flood Of endless day: to feel, is to be fired; And to believe, Lorenzo! is to feel. 200 Thou most indulgent, most tremendous Power!

Still more tremendous, for thy wondrous love!

That arms, with awe more awful, thy commands; And foul transgression dips in sevenfold night; How our hearts tremble at thy love immense!

In love immense, inviolably just!

Thou, rather than thy justice should be stain'd, Didst stain the cross; and work of wonders far The greatest, that thy dearest far might bleed.

Bold thought! shall I dare speak it, or repress? 210 Should man more execrate, or boast, the guilt Which roused such vengeance? which such love inflamed?

O'er guilt (how mountainous!), with outstretch'd arms, Stern justice, and soft-smiling love embrace, Supporting, in full majesty, thy throne, When seem'd its majesty to need support, Or that, or man, inevitably lost: What, but the fathomless of thought divine, Could labour such expedient from despair, And rescue both? Both rescue! both exalt! 220 Oh, how are both exalted by the deed!

The wondrous deed! or shall I call it more?

A wonder in omnipotence itself! 223 A mystery no less to G.o.ds than men!

Not, thus, our infidels th' Eternal draw, A G.o.d all o'er, consummate, absolute, Full-orb'd, in his whole round of rays complete: They set at odds Heaven's jarring attributes; And, with one excellence, another wound; Maim Heaven's perfection, break its equal beams, Bid mercy triumph over--G.o.d himself, 231 Undeified by their opprobrious praise: A G.o.d all mercy, is a G.o.d unjust.

Ye brainless wits! ye baptized infidels!

Ye worse for mending! wash'd to fouler stains!

The ransom was paid down; the fund of heaven, Heaven's inexhaustible, exhausted fund, Amazing, and amazed, pour'd forth the price, All price beyond: though curious to compute, Archangels fail'd to cast the mighty sum: 240 Its value vast, ungrasp'd by minds create, For ever hides, and glows, in the Supreme.

And was the ransom paid? It was: and paid (What can exalt the bounty more?) for you.

The sun beheld it--No! the shocking scene, Drove back his chariot: midnight veil'd his face; Not such as this; not such as nature makes; A midnight nature shudder'd to behold; A midnight new! a dread eclipse (without Opposing spheres) from her Creator's frown! 250 Sun! didst thou fly thy Maker's pain? or start At that enormous load of human guilt, Which bow'd His blessed head; o'erwhelm'd His cross; Made groan the centre; burst earth's marble womb, With pangs, strange pangs! deliver'd of her dead?

h.e.l.l howl'd; and heaven that hour let fall a tear; Heaven wept, that men might smile! Heaven bled, that man Might never die!---- And is devotion virtue? 'Tis compell'd. 259 What heart of stone but glows at thoughts like these?

Such contemplations mount us; and should mount The mind still higher; nor ever glance on man, Unraptured, uninflamed.--Where roll my thoughts To rest from wonders? Other wonders rise; And strike where'er they roll: my soul is caught: Heaven's sovereign blessings, cl.u.s.tering from the cross, Rush on her, in a throng, and close her round, The prisoner of amaze!--In his bless'd life, I see the path, and, in his death, the price, And in his great ascent, the proof supreme 270 Of immortality.--And did he rise?[14]

Hear, O ye nations! hear it, O ye dead!

He rose! he rose! he burst the bars of death.

Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates!

And give the King of glory to come in.

Who is the King of glory? He who left His throne of glory, for the pang of death: Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates!

And give the King of glory to come in.

Who is the King of glory? He who slew 280 The ravenous foe, that gorged all human race!

The King of glory, he whose glory fill'd Heaven with amazement at his love to man; And with divine complacency beheld Powers most illumined, wilder'd in the theme.

The theme, the joy, how then shall man sustain?

O the burst gates! crush'd sting! demolish'd throne!

Last gasp of vanquish'd Death! Shout earth and heaven!

This sum of good to man. Whose nature then Took wing, and mounted with him from the tomb! 290 Then, then, I rose; then first humanity 291 Triumphant pa.s.s'd the crystal ports of light (Stupendous guest!), and seized eternal youth, Seized in our name. E'er since, 'tis blasphemous To call man mortal. Man's mortality Was then transferr'd to death; and heaven's duration Unalienably seal'd to this frail frame, This child of dust--Man, all-immortal! hail; Hail, Heaven! all lavish of strange gifts to man!

Thine all the glory; man's the boundless bliss. 300 Where am I rapt by this triumphant theme?

On Christian joy's exulting wing, above Th' Aonian mount?--Alas! small cause for joy!

What if to pain immortal? if extent Of being, to preclude a close of woe?

Where, then, my boast of immortality?

I boast it still, though cover'd o'er with guilt; For guilt, not innocence, his life he pour'd; 'Tis guilt alone can justify his death; Nor that, unless his death can justify 310 Relenting guilt in Heaven's indulgent sight.

If, sick of folly, I relent; he writes My name in heaven with that inverted spear (A spear deep-dipp'd in blood!) which pierced his side, And open'd there a font for all mankind, Who strive, who combat crimes, to drink, and live: This, only this, subdues the fear of death.

And what is this?--Survey the wondrous cure: And at each step, let higher wonder rise!

"Pardon for infinite offence! and pardon 320 Through means that speak its value infinite!

A pardon bought with blood! with blood divine!

With blood divine of Him I made my foe!

Persisted to provoke! though woo'd and awed, Bless'd and chastised, a flagrant rebel still! 325 A rebel, 'midst the thunders of his throne!

Nor I alone! a rebel universe!

My species up in arms! not one exempt!

Yet for the foulest of the foul, he dies, Most joy'd, for the redeem'd from deepest guilt!

As if our race were held of highest rank; And G.o.dhead dearer, as more kind to man!" 332 Bound, every heart! and every bosom, burn!

O what a scale of miracles is here!

Its lowest round, high planted on the skies; Its towering summit lost beyond the thought Of man or angel! O that I could climb The wonderful ascent, with equal praise!

Praise! flow for ever (if astonishment Will give thee leave) my praise! for ever flow; 340 Praise ardent, cordial, constant, to high Heaven More fragrant, than Arabia sacrificed, And all her spicy mountains in a flame.

So dear, so due to Heaven, shall praise descend, With her soft plume (from plausive angel's wing First pluck'd by man) to tickle mortal ears, Thus diving in the pockets of the great?

Is praise the perquisite of every paw, Though black as h.e.l.l, that grapples well for gold?

O love of gold! thou meanest of amours! 350 Shall praise her odours waste on Virtue's dead, Embalm the base, perfume the stench of guilt, Earn dirty bread by washing aethiops fair, Removing filth, or sinking it from sight, A scavenger in scenes, where vacant posts, Like gibbets yet untenanted, expect Their future ornaments? From courts and thrones, Return, apostate praise! thou vagabond!

Thou prost.i.tute! to thy first love return, 395 Thy first, thy greatest, once unrivall'd theme.

There flow redundant; like Meander flow, Back to thy fountain; to that parent Power, Who gives the tongue to sound, the thought to soar, The soul to be. Men homage pay to men, Thoughtless beneath whose dreadful eye they bow In mutual awe profound, of clay to clay, Of guilt to guilt; and turn their back on thee, Great Sire! whom thrones celestial ceaseless sing; To prostrate angels, an amazing scene!

O the presumption of man's awe for man!-- 370 Man's author! end! restorer! law! and judge!

Thine, all; day thine, and thine this gloom of night, With all her wealth, with all her radiant worlds: What, night eternal, but a frown from thee?

What, heaven's meridian glory, but thy smile?

And shall not praise be thine? not human praise?

While heaven's high host on hallelujahs live?

O may I breathe no longer, than I breathe My soul in praise to Him, who gave my soul, And all her infinite of prospect fair, 380 Cut through the shades of h.e.l.l great Love! by thee O most adorable! most unadored!

Where shall that praise begin, which ne'er should end?

Where'er I turn, what claim on all applause!