740

my fate.

My heart became the convert of my head;
And made that choice, which once was but
"On argument alone my faith is built:"
Reason pursu'd is Faith; and unpursu'd,
Where proof invites, 'tis Reason, then, no more:
And such our proof, that, or our faith is right,
Or Reason lies, and Heav'n design'd it wrong:
Absolve we this? What, then, is blasphemy?

Fond as we are, and justly fond of Faith,
Reason, we grant, demands our first regard;
The mother honour'd, as the daughter dear.
Reason the root; fair Faith is but the flow'r:

745

750

The fading flow'r shall die; but Reason lives

Immortal as her Father in the skies.

When Faith is virtue, Reason makes it so.

Wrong not the Christian; think not Reason yours; 755 'Tis Reason our great Master holds so dear; 'Tis Reason's injur'd rights his wrath resents; 'Tis Reason's voice obey'd, his glories crown; To give lost Reason life, he pour'd his own; Believe, and shew the reason of a man; Believe, and taste the pleasure of a god; Believe, and look with triumph on the tomb.

760

Through Reason's wounds alone thy Faith can die;
Which dying, tenfold terror gives to Death,
And dips in venom his twice-mortal sting.

765

Learn hence what honours, what loud paans, due

To those who push our antidote aside;

Those boasted friends to Reason, and to Man,
Whose fatal love stabs ev'ry joy, and leaves

Death's terror heighten'd gnawing on his heart. 770

These pompous sons of Reason idoliz'd
And vilify'd at once; of Reason dead

Then deify'd, as monarchs were of old;

What conduct plants proud laurels on their brow?
While love of truth thro' all their camp resounds, 775
They draw Pride's curtain o'er the noon-tide ray,
Spike up their inch of reason, on the point
Of philosophic wit call'd argument;

And then, exulting in their taper, cry,

"Behold the sun!" and, Indian-like, adore.

780

Talk they of morals? O thou bleeding Love! Thou maker of new morals to mankind!

The grand morality is love of THEE.

As wise as SOCRATES, if such they were

(Nor will they 'bate of that sublime renown;)

785

As wise as SOCRATES, might justly stand

The definition of a modern fool.

A Christian is the highest style of Man.

And is there, who the blessed cross wipes off,
As a foul blot, from his dishonour'd brow?

790

If angels tremble, 'tis at such a sight:

The wretch they quit, desponding of their charge, More struck with grief or wonder, who can tell?

Ye sold to sense! ye citizens of earth!

(For such alone the Christian banner fly

795

Know ye how wise your choice, how great your gain? Behold the picture of earth's happiest man:

"He calls his wish, it comes; he sends it back, "And says he call'd another; that arrives,

"Meets the same welcome; yet he still calls on; 800 "Till one calls him, who varies not his call,

"But holds him fast, in chains of darkness bound, "Till Nature dies, and Judgment sets him free; "A freedom far less welcome than his chain."

810

But grant Man happy; grant him happy long; 805 Add to life's highest prize her latest hour; That hour, so late, is nimble in approach, That, like a post, comes on in full career: How swift the shuttle flies that weaves thy shroud! Where is the fable of thy former years? Thrown down the gulph of time; as far from thee As they had ne'er been thine; the day in hand, Like a bird struggling to get loose, is going; Scarce now possess'd, so suddenly 'tis gone; And each swift moment fled, is death advanc'd

By strides as swift: Eternity is all;

And whose eternity? Who triumphs there?
Bathing for ever in the font of bliss!

For ever basking in the Deity!

815

LORENZO! who?-Thy conscience shall reply. 820
O give it leave to speak; 'twill speak ere long,
Thy leave unask'd: LORENZO! hear it now,
While useful its advice, its accent mild.
By the great edict, the divine decree,
Truth is deposited with Man's last hour;
An honest hour, and faithful to her trust;
Truth, eldest daughter of the Deity;

825

Truth of his council, when he made the worlds;
Nor less when he shall judge the worlds he made;
Though silent long, and sleeping ne'er so sound, 830
Smother'd with errors, and oppress'd with toys,
That heav'n-commission'd hour no sooner calls,
But from her cavern in the soul's abyss,

Like him they fable under Ætna whelm'd,
The goddess bursts in thunder, and in flame;
Loudly convinces, and severely pains.
Dark Dæmons I discharge, and Hydra-stings;
The keen vibration of bright truth-is hell:
Just definition! though by schools untaught.
Ye deaf to truth! peruse this parson'd page,

And trust, for once, a prophet, and a priest;
"Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die."

835

840

THE

COMPLAINT.

NIGHT V.

THE RELAPSE.

LORENZO! to recriminate is just.

Fondness of fame is avarice of air.

I grant the man is vain who writes for praise.
Praise no man e'er deserv'd, who sought no more.

As just thy second charge. I grant the Muse
Has often blush'd at her degen'rate sons,
Retain❜d by Sense to plead her filthy cause;
To raise the low, to magnify the mean,
And subtilize the gross into refin'd:
As if to magic numbers' pow'rful charm
'Twas giv'n to make a civet of their song,
Obscene, and sweeten ordure to perfume.
Wit, a true pagan, deifies the brute,

And lifts our swine-enjoyments from the mire,

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