Classic Poem

NIGHT THE EIGHTH

A World, where Lust of Pleasure, Grandeur, Gold,
Three Daemons that divide its Realms between them,
With Strokes alternate buffet to and fro,
Man's restless Heart, their Sport, their flying Ball;
Till, with its giddy Circle, sick, and tir'd,
It pants for Peace, and drops into Despair:
*

What wondrous Prize has kindled this Career,
Stuns, with the Din, and choaks us, with the Dust,
On Life's gay Stage, one Inch above the Grave?
The Proud run up and down in quest of Eyes;
The Sensual in pursuit of something worse;
The Grave, of Gold; the Politic, of Power;
And All, of other Butterflies, as vain!
As Eddies draw things frivolous, and light,
How is Man's Heart by Vanity drawn in;
On the swift Circle of returning Toys,
Whirl'd, Straw-like, round and round, and then ingulph'd;
Where gay Delusion darkens to Despair!
*

Self-flatter'd, unexperienc'd, high in Hope,
When Young, with sanguine Cheer, and Streamers gay,
We cut our Cable, launch into the World,
And fondly dream each Wind, and Star, our Friend;
All, in some darling Enterprize embarkt:
But where is he can fathom its Extent?
Amid a Multitude of artless Hands,
Ruin's sure Perquisite! her lawful Prize!
Some steer aright; but the black Blast blows hard,
And puffs them wide of Hope: With Hearts of Proof,
Full against Wind, and Tide, some win their Way;
And when strong Effort has deserv'd the Port,
And tugg'd it into View, 'tis won! 'tis lost!
Tho' strong their Oar, still stronger is their Fate,
They Strike; and while they Triumph, they Expire.
In Stress of Weather, Most; Some sink outright;
O'er them, and o'er their Names the Billows close;
To-morrow knows not they were ever Born:
*

Florello lately cast on this rude Coast,
A helpless Infant; now, a heedless Child;
To poor Clarissa's Throes, thy Care succeeds;
Care full of Love, and yet severe as Hate:
O'er thy Soul's Joy how oft thy Fondness frowns?
Needful Austerities his Will restrain;
As Thorns fence in the tender Plant from Harm
As yet, his Reason cannot go alone,
But asks a sterner Nurse to lead it on:
His little Heart is often terrify'd;
The Blush of Morning in his Cheek, turns pale;
Its pearly Dew-drop trembles in his Eye;
His harmless Eye! and drowns an Angel there:
Ah! what avails his Innocence? The Task
Injoin'd, must discipline his early Pow'rs;
He learns to sigh, ere he is known to sin;
Guiltless, and sad! A Wretch before the Fall!
How cruel this! More cruel to forbear
Our Nature such, with necessary Pains,
We purchase Prospects of precarious Peace:
Tho' not a Father, This might steal a Sigh.
*

See, the steel'd Files of season'd Veterans,
Train'd to the World, in burnisht Falshood bright;
Deep in the fatal Strategems of Peace;
All soft Sensation, in the Throng, rubb'd off;
All their keen Purpose, in Politeness, sheath'd;
His Friends eternal — during Interest;
His Foes implacable, — when worth their While;
At War with ev'ry Welfare, but their own;
As wise as Lucifer; and half as Good;
And by whom, none, but Lucifer, can gain —
Naked, through These (so common Fate ordains),
Naked of Heart, his cruel Course he runs,
Stung out of All, most amiable in Life,
Prompt Truth, and open Thought, and Smiles unfeign'd;
Affection, as his Species, wide-diffus'd;
Noble Presumptions to Mankind's Renown;
Ingenuous Trust, and Confidence of Love.
These Claims to Joy (if Mortals Joy might claim)
Will cost him many a Sigh; till Time, and Pains,
From the slow Mistress of this School, Experience,
And her Assistant, pausing, pale Distrust,
Purchase a dear-bought Clue to lead his Youth,
Thro' serpentine Obliquities of life,
And the dark Labyrinth of human Hearts. . .
The World's all Title-Page, there's no Contents;
The World's all Face; the Man who shews his Heart,
Is hooted for his Nudities, and scorn'd.
*

An Eminence, though fancy'd, turns the Brain;
All Vice wants Hellebore; but, of all Vice,
Pride loudest calls, and for the largest Bowl;
Because, all other Vice unlike, it flies,
In Fact, the Point, in Fancy, most pursu'd.
Who court Applause, oblige the World in this;
They gratify Man's Passion to refuse:
Superior Honour when assum'd, is lost;
E'en Good Men turn Banditti, and rejoice,
Like Kouli-Kan, in Plunder of the Proud.
*

Think you there's but One Whoredom? Whoredom, All,
But when our Reason licenses Delight:
Dost doubt, Lorenzo? Thou shalt doubt no more:
Thy Father chides thy Gallantries, yet hugs
An ugly, common Harlot, in the Dark;
A rank Adulterer with others Gold;
And that Hag, Vengeance, in a Corner, charms;
Hatred her Brothel has, as well as Love,
Where horrid Epicures debauch in Blood;
Whate'er the Motive, Pleasure is the Mark:
For Her, the black Assassin draws his Sword;
For Her, dark Statesmen trim their Midnight Lamp,
To which no single Sacrifice may fall;
For Her, the Saint abstains; the Miser starves;
The Stoic proud, for Pleasure, Pleasure scorn'd;
For Her, Affliction's Daughters Grief indulge,
And find, or hope, a Luxury in Tears;
For Her, Guilt, Shame, Toil, Danger, we defy;
And, with an Aim voluptuous, rush on Death
Thus universal her despotic Pow'r
*

No Man e'er found a happy Life by Chance,
Or yawn'd it into Being, with a Wish;
Or, with the Snout of grov'ling Appetite,
E'er smelt it out, and grubb'd it from the Dirt;
An Art it is, and must be learnt; and learnt
With unremitting Effort, or be lost;
*

Some Angel guide my Pencil, while I draw,
What nothing less than Angel can exceed.
A Man on Earth devoted to the Skies,
Like Ships in Seas, while in, above the World.
With Aspect mild, and elevated Eye,
Behold him seated on a Mount serene,
Above the Fogs of Sense, and Passion's Storm;
All the black Cares, and Tumults, of This Life,
Like harmless Thunders, breaking at his Feet,
Excite his Pity, not impair his Peace:
Earth's genuine Sons, the Sceptred, and the Slave,
A mingled Mob! A wand'ring Herd! he sees
Bewilder'd in the Vale; in All unlike!
His full Reverse in All! What higher Praise?
What stronger Demonstration of the Right?
The Present all Their Care, the Future, His.
When Public Welfare calls, or Private Want,
They give to Fame; His Bounty He conceals:
Their Virtues varnish Nature; His, exalt:
Mankind's Esteem They court; and He, his Own:
Theirs, the wild Chace of false Felicities;
His, the compos'd Possession of the true:
Alike thro'out is His consistent Peace,
All of one Colour, and an even Thread;
While party-colour'd Shreds of Happiness,
With hideous Gaps between, patch up for Them
A Madman's Robe; each Puff of Fortune blows
The Tatters by, and shews their Nakedness.
He sees with other Eyes than Theirs: Where They
Behold a Sun, He spies a Deity;
What makes Them only Smile, makes Him Adore;
Where They see Mountains, He but Atoms sees;
An Empire, in His Balance, weighs a Grain:
They Things Terrestrial worship, as Divine;
His Hopes Immortal blow them by, as Dust,
That dims his Sight, and shortens his Survey,
Which longs, in Infinite, to lose all Bound:

NIGHT THE EIGHTH

A World, where Lust of Pleasure, Grandeur, Gold,
Three Daemons that divide its Realms between them,
With Strokes alternate buffet to and fro,
Man's restless Heart, their Sport, their flying Ball;
Till, with its giddy Circle, sick, and tir'd,
It pants for Peace, and drops into Despair:
*

What wondrous Prize has kindled this Career,
Stuns, with the Din, and choaks us, with the Dust,
On Life's gay Stage, one Inch above the Grave?
The Proud run up and down in quest of Eyes;
The Sensual in pursuit of something worse;
The Grave, of Gold; the Politic, of Power;
And All, of other Butterflies, as vain!
As Eddies draw things frivolous, and light,
How is Man's Heart by Vanity drawn in;
On the swift Circle of returning Toys,
Whirl'd, Straw-like, round and round, and then ingulph'd;
Where gay Delusion darkens to Despair!
*

Self-flatter'd, unexperienc'd, high in Hope,
When Young, with sanguine Cheer, and Streamers gay,
We cut our Cable, launch into the World,
And fondly dream each Wind, and Star, our Friend;
All, in some darling Enterprize embarkt:
But where is he can fathom its Extent?
Amid a Multitude of artless Hands,
Ruin's sure Perquisite! her lawful Prize!
Some steer aright; but the black Blast blows hard,
And puffs them wide of Hope: With Hearts of Proof,
Full against Wind, and Tide, some win their Way;
And when strong Effort has deserv'd the Port,
And tugg'd it into View, 'tis won! 'tis lost!
Tho' strong their Oar, still stronger is their Fate,
They Strike; and while they Triumph, they Expire.
In Stress of Weather, Most; Some sink outright;
O'er them, and o'er their Names the Billows close;
To-morrow knows not they were ever Born:
*

Florello lately cast on this rude Coast,
A helpless Infant; now, a heedless Child;
To poor Clarissa's Throes, thy Care succeeds;
Care full of Love, and yet severe as Hate:
O'er thy Soul's Joy how oft thy Fondness frowns?
Needful Austerities his Will restrain;
As Thorns fence in the tender Plant from Harm
As yet, his Reason cannot go alone,
But asks a sterner Nurse to lead it on:
His little Heart is often terrify'd;
The Blush of Morning in his Cheek, turns pale;
Its pearly Dew-drop trembles in his Eye;
His harmless Eye! and drowns an Angel there:
Ah! what avails his Innocence? The Task
Injoin'd, must discipline his early Pow'rs;
He learns to sigh, ere he is known to sin;
Guiltless, and sad! A Wretch before the Fall!
How cruel this! More cruel to forbear
Our Nature such, with necessary Pains,
We purchase Prospects of precarious Peace:
Tho' not a Father, This might steal a Sigh.
*

See, the steel'd Files of season'd Veterans,
Train'd to the World, in burnisht Falshood bright;
Deep in the fatal Strategems of Peace;
All soft Sensation, in the Throng, rubb'd off;
All their keen Purpose, in Politeness, sheath'd;
His Friends eternal — during Interest;
His Foes implacable, — when worth their While;
At War with ev'ry Welfare, but their own;
As wise as Lucifer; and half as Good;
And by whom, none, but Lucifer, can gain —
Naked, through These (so common Fate ordains),
Naked of Heart, his cruel Course he runs,
Stung out of All, most amiable in Life,
Prompt Truth, and open Thought, and Smiles unfeign'd;
Affection, as his Species, wide-diffus'd;
Noble Presumptions to Mankind's Renown;
Ingenuous Trust, and Confidence of Love.
These Claims to Joy (if Mortals Joy might claim)
Will cost him many a Sigh; till Time, and Pains,
From the slow Mistress of this School, Experience,
And her Assistant, pausing, pale Distrust,
Purchase a dear-bought Clue to lead his Youth,
Thro' serpentine Obliquities of life,
And the dark Labyrinth of human Hearts. . .
The World's all Title-Page, there's no Contents;
The World's all Face; the Man who shews his Heart,
Is hooted for his Nudities, and scorn'd.
*

An Eminence, though fancy'd, turns the Brain;
All Vice wants Hellebore; but, of all Vice,
Pride loudest calls, and for the largest Bowl;
Because, all other Vice unlike, it flies,
In Fact, the Point, in Fancy, most pursu'd.
Who court Applause, oblige the World in this;
They gratify Man's Passion to refuse:
Superior Honour when assum'd, is lost;
E'en Good Men turn Banditti, and rejoice,
Like Kouli-Kan, in Plunder of the Proud.
*

Think you there's but One Whoredom? Whoredom, All,
But when our Reason licenses Delight:
Dost doubt, Lorenzo? Thou shalt doubt no more:
Thy Father chides thy Gallantries, yet hugs
An ugly, common Harlot, in the Dark;
A rank Adulterer with others Gold;
And that Hag, Vengeance, in a Corner, charms;
Hatred her Brothel has, as well as Love,
Where horrid Epicures debauch in Blood;
Whate'er the Motive, Pleasure is the Mark:
For Her, the black Assassin draws his Sword;
For Her, dark Statesmen trim their Midnight Lamp,
To which no single Sacrifice may fall;
For Her, the Saint abstains; the Miser starves;
The Stoic proud, for Pleasure, Pleasure scorn'd;
For Her, Affliction's Daughters Grief indulge,
And find, or hope, a Luxury in Tears;
For Her, Guilt, Shame, Toil, Danger, we defy;
And, with an Aim voluptuous, rush on Death
Thus universal her despotic Pow'r
*

No Man e'er found a happy Life by Chance,
Or yawn'd it into Being, with a Wish;
Or, with the Snout of grov'ling Appetite,
E'er smelt it out, and grubb'd it from the Dirt;
An Art it is, and must be learnt; and learnt
With unremitting Effort, or be lost;
*

Some Angel guide my Pencil, while I draw,
What nothing less than Angel can exceed.
A Man on Earth devoted to the Skies,
Like Ships in Seas, while in, above the World.
With Aspect mild, and elevated Eye,
Behold him seated on a Mount serene,
Above the Fogs of Sense, and Passion's Storm;
All the black Cares, and Tumults, of This Life,
Like harmless Thunders, breaking at his Feet,
Excite his Pity, not impair his Peace:
Earth's genuine Sons, the Sceptred, and the Slave,
A mingled Mob! A wand'ring Herd! he sees
Bewilder'd in the Vale; in All unlike!
His full Reverse in All! What higher Praise?
What stronger Demonstration of the Right?
The Present all Their Care, the Future, His.
When Public Welfare calls, or Private Want,
They give to Fame; His Bounty He conceals:
Their Virtues varnish Nature; His, exalt:
Mankind's Esteem They court; and He, his Own:
Theirs, the wild Chace of false Felicities;
His, the compos'd Possession of the true:
Alike thro'out is His consistent Peace,
All of one Colour, and an even Thread;
While party-colour'd Shreds of Happiness,
With hideous Gaps between, patch up for Them
A Madman's Robe; each Puff of Fortune blows
The Tatters by, and shews their Nakedness.
He sees with other Eyes than Theirs: Where They
Behold a Sun, He spies a Deity;
What makes Them only Smile, makes Him Adore;
Where They see Mountains, He but Atoms sees;
An Empire, in His Balance, weighs a Grain:
They Things Terrestrial worship, as Divine;
His Hopes Immortal blow them by, as Dust,
That dims his Sight, and shortens his Survey,
Which longs, in Infinite, to lose all Bound: