Young's Night Thoughts Part 13

Most happy they! whom least his arts deceive.

One eye on Death, and one full fix'd on heaven, Becomes a mortal, and immortal man.

Long on his wiles a piqued and jealous spy, 840 I've seen, or dreamt I saw, the tyrant dress; Lay by his horrors, and put on his smiles.

Say, Muse, for thou remember'st, call it back, And show Lorenzo the surprising scene; If 'twas a dream, his genius can explain.

'Twas in a circle of the gay I stood.

Death would have enter'd; Nature push'd him back; Supported by a doctor of renown, His point he gain'd. Then artfully dismiss'd The sage; for Death design'd to be conceal'd. 850 He gave an old vivacious usurer His meagre aspect, and his naked bones; In grat.i.tude for plumping up his prey, A pamper'd spendthrift; whose fantastic air, Well-fas.h.i.+on'd figure, and c.o.c.kaded[25] brow, He took in change, and underneath the pride Of costly linen, tuck'd his filthy shroud.

His crooked bow he straighten'd to a cane; And hid his deadly shafts in Myra's eye.

The dreadful masquerader, thus equipp'd, 860 Out sallies on adventures. Ask you where?

Where is he not? For his peculiar haunts, Let this suffice; sure as night follows day, Death treads in pleasure's footsteps round the world, 864 When pleasure treads the paths, which reason shuns.

When, against reason, riot shuts the door, And gaiety supplies the place of sense, Then, foremost at the banquet, and the ball, Death leads the dance, or stamps the deadly die; Nor ever fails the midnight bowl to crown. 870 Gaily carousing to his gay compeers, Inly he laughs, to see them laugh at him, As absent far: and when the revel burns, When fear is banish'd, and triumphant thought, Calling for all the joys beneath the moon, Against him turns the key; and bids him sup With their progenitors--He drops his mask; Frowns out at full; they start, despair, expire.

Scarce with more sudden terror and surprise, From his black mask of nitre, touch'd by fire, 880 He bursts, expands, roars, blazes, and devours.

And is not this triumphant treachery, And more than simple conquest, in the fiend?

And now, Lorenzo, dost thou wrap thy soul In soft security, because unknown Which moment is commission'd to destroy?

In death's uncertainty thy danger lies.

Is death uncertain? Therefore thou be fix'd; Fix'd as a sentinel, all eye, all ear, All expectation of the coming foe. 890 Rouse, stand in arms, nor lean against thy spear; Lest slumber steal one moment o'er thy soul, And Fate surprise thee nodding. Watch, be strong: Thus give each day the merit, and renown, Of dying well; though doom'd but once to die.

Nor let life's period hidden (as from most) Hide too from thee the precious use of life.

Early, not sudden, was Narcissa's fate. 898 Soon, not surprising, Death his visit paid.

Her thought went forth to meet him on his way, Nor gaiety forgot it was to die: Though Fortune too (our third and final theme), As an accomplice, play'd her gaudy plumes, And every glittering gewgaw, on her sight, 904 To dazzle, and debauch it from its mark.

Death's dreadful advent is the mark of man; And every thought that misses it, is blind.

Fortune, with youth and gaiety, conspired To weave a triple wreath of happiness (If happiness on earth) to crown her brow. 910 And could Death charge through such a s.h.i.+ning s.h.i.+eld?

That s.h.i.+ning s.h.i.+eld invites the tyrant's spear.

As if to damp our elevated aims, And strongly preach humility to man.

O how portentous is prosperity!

How, comet-like, it threatens, while it s.h.i.+nes!

Few years but yield us proof of Death's ambition, To cull his victims from the fairest fold, And sheath his shafts in all the pride of life.

When flooded with abundance, purpled o'er 920 With recent honours, bloom'd with every bliss, Set up in ostentation, made the gaze, The gaudy centre, of the public eye, When Fortune thus has toss'd her child in air, s.n.a.t.c.h'd from the covert of an humble state, How often have I seen him dropp'd at once, Our morning's envy! and our evening's sigh!

As if her bounties were the signal given, The flowery wreath to mark the sacrifice, And call Death's arrows on the destined prey. 930 High Fortune seems in cruel league with Fate.

Ask you for what? To give his war on man 932 The deeper dread, and more ill.u.s.trious spoil; Thus to keep daring mortals more in awe.

And burns Lorenzo still for the sublime Of life? to hang his airy nest on high, On the slight timber of the topmost bough, Rock'd at each breeze, and menacing a fall?

Granting grim Death at equal distance there; Yet peace begins just where ambition ends. 940 What makes man wretched? Happiness denied?

Lorenzo! no: 'tis happiness disdain'd.

She comes too meanly dress'd to win our smile; And calls herself Content, a homely name!

Our flame is transport, and Content our scorn.

Ambition turns, and shuts the door against her, And weds a toil, a tempest, in her stead; A tempest to warm transport near of kin.

Unknowing what our mortal state admits, Life's modest joys we ruin, while we raise; 950 And all our ecstasies are wounds to peace; Peace, the full portion of mankind below.

And since thy peace is dear, ambitious youth!

Of fortune fond! as thoughtless of thy fate!

As late I drew Death's picture, to stir up Thy wholesome fears; now, drawn in contrast, see Gay Fortune's, thy vain hopes to reprimand.

See, high in air, the sportive G.o.ddess hangs, Unlocks her casket, spreads her glittering ware, And calls the giddy winds to puff abroad 960 Her random bounties o'er the gaping throng.

All rush rapacious; friends o'er trodden friends; Sons o'er their fathers, subjects o'er their kings, Priests o'er their G.o.ds, and lovers o'er the fair (Still more adored), to s.n.a.t.c.h the golden shower.

Gold glitters most, where virtue s.h.i.+nes no more; As stars from absent suns have leave to s.h.i.+ne. 967 O what a precious pack of votaries[26]

Unkennell'd from the prisons, and the stews, Pour in, all opening in their idol's praise; All, ardent, eye each wafture of her hand, And, wide-expanding their voracious jaws, Morsel on morsel swallow down unchew'd, 973 Untasted, through mad appet.i.te for more; Gorged to the throat, yet lean and ravenous still.

Sagacious all, to trace the smallest game, And bold to seize the greatest. If (bless'd chance!) Court-zephyrs sweetly breathe, they launch, they fly, O'er just, o'er sacred, all-forbidden ground, Drunk with the burning scent of place or power, 980 Staunch to the foot of lucre, till they die.

Or, if for men you take them, as I mark Their manners, thou their various fates survey.

With aim mismeasured, and impetuous speed, Some darting, strike their ardent wish far off, Through fury to possess it: some succeed, But stumble, and let fall the taken prize.

From some, by sudden blasts, 'tis whirl'd away, And lodged in bosoms that ne'er dreamt of gain.

To some it sticks so close, that, when torn off, 990 Torn is the man, and mortal is the wound.

Some, o'er-enamour'd of their bags, run mad, Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread.

Together some (unhappy rivals!) seize, And rend abundance into poverty; Loud croaks the raven of the law, and smiles: Smiles too the G.o.ddess; but smiles most at those (Just victims of exorbitant desire!) Who perish at their own request, and, whelm'd Beneath her load of lavish grants, expire. 1000 Fortune is famous for her numbers slain, The number small, which happiness can bear. 1002 Though various for a while their fates; at last One curse involves them all: at Death's approach, All read their riches backward into loss, And mourn, in just proportion to their store.

And Death's approach (if orthodox my song) Is hasten'd by the lure of Fortune's smiles.

And art thou still a glutton of bright gold?

And art thou still rapacious of thy ruin? 1010 Death loves a s.h.i.+ning mark, a signal blow; A blow, which, while it executes, alarms; And startles thousands with a single fall.

As when some stately growth of oak, or pine, Which nods aloft, and proudly spreads her shade, The sun's defiance, and the flock's defence; By the strong strokes of labouring hinds subdued, Loud groans her last, and, rus.h.i.+ng from her height, In c.u.mbrous ruin, thunders to the ground: The conscious forest trembles at the shock, 1020 And hill, and stream, and distant dale, resound.

These high-aim'd darts of Death, and these alone, Should I collect, my quiver would be full.

A quiver, which, suspended in mid-air, Or near heaven's archer, in the zodiac, hung, (So could it be) should draw the public eye, The gaze and contemplation of mankind!

A constellation awful, yet benign, To guide the gay through life's tempestuous wave; Nor suffer them to strike the common rock, 1030 "From greater danger to grow more secure, And, wrapt in happiness, forget their fate."

Lysander, happy past the common lot, Was warn'd of danger, but too gay to fear.

He woo'd the fair Aspasia: she was kind: In youth, form, fortune, fame, they both were bless'd: All who knew, envied; yet in envy loved: 1037 Can fancy form more finish'd happiness?

Fix'd was the nuptial hour. Her stately dome Rose on the sounding beach. The glittering spires Float in the wave, and break against the sh.o.r.e: So break those glittering shadows, human joys.

The faithless morning smiled: he takes his leave, 1043 To re-embrace, in ecstasies, at eve.

The rising storm forbids. The news arrives: Untold, she saw it in her servant's eye.

She felt it seen (her heart was apt to feel); And, drown'd, without the furious ocean's aid, In suffocating sorrows, shares his tomb.

Now, round the sumptuous bridal monument, 1050 The guilty billows innocently roar; And the rough sailor pa.s.sing, drops a tear.

A tear?--can tears suffice?--But not for me.

How vain our efforts! and our arts, how vain!

The distant train of thought I took, to shun, Has thrown me on my fate--these died together; Happy in ruin! undivorced by death!

Or ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part,[27] is peace-- Narcissa! pity bleeds at thought of thee.

Yet thou wast only near me; not myself. 1060 Survive myself?--That cures all other woe.

Narcissa lives; Philander is forgot.

O the soft commerce! O the tender ties, Close twisted with the fibres of the heart!

Which, broken, break them; and drain off the soul Of human joy; and make it pain to live-- And is it then to live? When such friends part, 'Tis the survivor dies--My heart! no more. 1068

THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED, IN TWO PARTS; CONTAINING THE NATURE, PROOF, AND IMPORTANCE OF IMMORTALITY.

PART I.

WHERE, AMONG OTHER THINGS, GLORY AND RICHES ARE PARTICULARLY CONSIDERED.

TO THE RIGHT HON. HENRY PELHAM, FIRST LORD COMMISSIONER OF THE TREASURY, AND CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER.

PREFACE.

Few ages have been deeper in dispute about religion than this. The dispute about religion, and the practice of it, seldom go together. The shorter, therefore, the dispute, the better. I think it may be reduced to this single question, _Is man immortal, or is he not?_ If he is not, all our disputes are mere amus.e.m.e.nts, or trials of skill. In this case, truth, reason, religion, which give our discourses such pomp and solemnity, are (as will be shown) mere empty sound, without any meaning in them. But if man is immortal, it will behove him to be very serious about eternal consequences; or, in other words, to be truly religious.

And this great fundamental truth, unestablished, or unawakened in the minds of men, is, I conceive, the real source and support of all our infidelity; how remote soever the particular objections advanced may seem to be from it.

Sensible appearances affect most men much more than abstract reasonings; and we daily see bodies drop around us, but the soul is invisible. The power which inclination has over the judgment, is greater than can be well conceived by those that have not had an experience of it; and of what numbers is it the sad interest that souls should not survive! The heathen world confessed, that they rather hoped, than firmly believed, immortality; and how many heathens have we still amongst us! The sacred page a.s.sures us, that life and immortality are brought to light by the Gospel: but by how many is the Gospel rejected or overlooked? From these considerations, and from my being accidentally privy to the sentiments of some particular persons, I have been long persuaded that most, if not all, our infidels (whatever name they take, and whatever scheme, for argument's sake, and to keep themselves in countenance, they patronise), are supported in their deplorable error, by some doubt of their immortality, at the bottom. And I am satisfied, that men once thoroughly convinced of their immortality, are not far from being Christians. For it is hard to conceive, that a man fully conscious eternal pain or happiness will certainly be his lot, should not earnestly and impartially inquire after the surest means of escaping the one, and securing the other. And of such an earnest and impartial inquiry I well know the consequence.

Here, therefore, in proof of this most fundamental truth, some plain arguments are offered; arguments derived from principles which infidels admit in common with believers; arguments which appear to me altogether irresistible; and such as, I am satisfied, will have great weight with all who give themselves the small trouble of looking seriously into their own bosoms, and of observing, with any tolerable degree of attention, what daily pa.s.ses round about them in the world. If some arguments shall here occur, which others have declined, they are submitted, with all deference, to better judgments in this, of all points the most important.

For, as to the being of a G.o.d, that is no longer disputed; but it is undisputed for this reason only, viz., because, where the least pretence to reason is admitted, it must for ever be indisputable. And of consequence no man can be betrayed into a dispute of that nature by vanity; which has a princ.i.p.al share in animating our modern combatants against other articles of our belief.