[
The
Complaint
:
or
,
Night-Thoughts
on
Life
,
Death
&
Immortality
.
]
Night
I
.
On
life
,
death
,
and
immortality
.
Humbly
inscribed
to
the
right
honourable
Arthur
Onslow
,
Esq.
,
Speaker
of
the
House
of
Commons
.
Tired
Nature's
sweet
restorer
,
balmy
Sleep
!
He
,
like
the
world
,
his
ready
visit
pays
Where
Fortune
smiles
;
the
wretched
he
forsakes
;
Swift
on
his
downy
pinion
flies
from
woe
,
And
lights
on
lids
unsullied
with
a
tear
.
From
short
(
as
usual
)
and
disturb'd
repose
I
wake
:
how
happy
they
who
wake
no
more
!
Yet
that
were
vain
,
if
dreams
infest
the
grave
.
I
wake
,
emerging
from
a
sea
of
dreams
Tumultuous
;
where
my
wreck'd
desponding
thought
,
From
wave
to
wave
of
fancied
misery
,
At
random
drove
,
her
helm
of
reason
lost
:
Though
now
restored
,
't
is
only
change
of
pain
,
(
A
bitter
change
!
)
severer
for
severe
.
The
Day
too
short
for
my
distress
;
and
Night
,
E'en
in
the
zenith
of
her
dark
domain
,
Is
sunshine
to
the
colour
of
my
fate
.
Night
,
sable
goddess
!
from
her
ebon
throne
,
In
rayless
majesty
,
now
stretches
forth
Her
leaden
sceptre
o'er
a
slumbering
world
.
Silence
,
how
dead
!
and
darkness
,
how
profound
!
Nor
eye
,
nor
listening
ear
,
an
object
finds
;
Creation
sleeps
.
'T
is
as
the
general
pulse
Of
life
stood
still
,
and
Nature
made
a
pause
;
An
awful
pause
!
prophetic
of
her
end
.
And
let
her
prophecy
be
soon
fulfill'd
:
Fate
!
drop
the
curtain
;
I
can
lose
no
more
.
Silence
and
Darkness
!
solemn
sisters
!
twins
From
ancient
Night
,
who
nurse
the
tender
thought
To
reason
,
and
on
reason
build
resolve
,
(
That
column
of
true
majesty
in
man
,
)
Assist
me
:
I
will
thank
you
in
the
grave
;
The
grave
your
kingdom
:
there
this
frame
shall
fall
A
victim
sacred
to
your
dreary
shrine
.
But
what
are
ye
?
—
Thou
,
who
didst
put
to
flight
Primeval
Silence
,
when
the
morning
stars
,
Exulting
,
shouted
o'er
the
rising
ball
;
—
O
Thou
,
whose
Word
from
solid
darkness
struck
That
spark
,
the
sun
!
strike
wisdom
from
my
soul
;
My
soul
,
which
flies
to
Thee
,
her
trust
,
her
treasure
,
As
misers
to
their
gold
,
while
others
rest
.
Through
this
opaque
of
Nature
and
of
soul
,
This
double
night
,
transmit
one
pitying
ray
,
To
lighten
and
to
cheer
.
O
lead
my
mind
,
(
A
mind
that
fain
would
wander
from
its
woe
,
)
Lead
it
through
various
scenes
of
life
and
death
;
And
from
each
scene
the
noblest
truths
inspire
.
Nor
less
inspire
my
conduct
than
my
song
:
Teach
my
best
reason
,
reason
;
my
best
will
Teach
rectitude
;
and
fix
my
firm
resolve
Wisdom
to
wed
,
and
pay
her
long
arrear
:
Nor
let
the
phial
of
thy
vengeance
,
pour'd
On
this
devoted
head
,
be
pour'd
in
vain
.
The
bell
strikes
one
.
We
take
no
note
of
time
But
from
its
loss
.
To
give
it
then
a
tongue
Is
wise
in
man
.
As
if
an
angel
spoke
,
I
feel
the
solemn
sound
.
If
heard
aright
,
It
is
the
knell
of
my
departed
hours
.
Where
are
they
?
With
the
years
beyond
the
flood
.
It
is
the
signal
that
demands
despatch
:
How
much
is
to
be
done
!
My
hopes
and
fears
Start
up
alarm'd
,
and
o'er
life's
narrow
verge
Look
down
—
on
what
?
A
fathomless
abyss
,
A
dread
eternity
!
how
surely
mine
!
And
can
eternity
belong
to
me
,
Poor
pensioner
on
the
bounties
of
an
hour
?
How
poor
,
how
rich
,
how
abject
,
how
august
,
How
complicate
,
how
wonderful
is
man
!
How
passing
wonder
He
who
made
him
such
!
Who
centred
in
our
make
such
strange
extremes
!
From
different
natures
marvellously
mix'd
,
Connexion
exquisite
of
distant
worlds
!
Distinguish'd
link
in
being's
endless
chain
!
Midway
from
nothing
to
the
Deity
!
A
beam
ethereal
,
sullied
and
absorb'd
!
Though
sullied
and
dishonour'd
,
still
divine
!
Dim
miniature
of
greatness
absolute
!
An
heir
of
glory
!
a
frail
child
of
dust
!
Helpless
immortal
!
insect
infinite
!
A
worm
!
a
god
!
—
I
tremble
at
myself
,
And
in
myself
am
lost
!
At
home
a
stranger
,
Thought
wanders
up
and
down
,
surprised
,
aghast
,
And
wondering
at
her
own
.
How
reason
reels
!
O
what
a
miracle
to
man
is
man
,
Triumphantly
distress'd
!
what
joy
!
what
dread
!
Alternately
transported
and
alarm'd
!
What
can
preserve
my
life
?
or
what
destroy
?
An
angel's
arm
can't
snatch
me
from
the
grave
;
Legions
of
angels
can't
confine
me
there
.
'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
;
Active
,
aërial
,
towering
,
unconfined
,
Unfetter'd
with
her
gross
companion's
fall
.
E'en
silent
Night
proclaims
my
soul
immortal
:
E'en
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
?
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
,
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
,
The
twilight
of
our
day
,
the
vestibule
:
Life's
theatre
as
yet
is
shut
,
and
Death
,
Strong
Death
,
alone
can
heave
the
massy
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
,
The
future
embryo
,
slumb'ring
in
his
sire
.
Embryos
we
must
be
till
we
burst
the
shell
,
Yon
ambient
azure
shell
,
and
spring
to
life
,
The
life
of
gods
(
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
,
On
life's
fair
tree
,
fast
by
the
throne
of
God
.
What
golden
joys
ambrosial
clustering
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
,
Thrown
into
tumult
,
raptured
,
or
alarm'd
,
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
incrusted
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
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
dreamt
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
noon-tide
trances
hung
With
gorgeous
tapestries
of
pictured
joys
!
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
frenzy'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
.
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
,
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
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
!
A
bold
invasion
of
the
rights
of
Heaven
!
I
clasp'd
the
phantoms
,
and
I
found
them
air
.
O
had
I
weigh'd
it
ere
my
fond
embrace
,
What
darts
of
agony
had
miss'd
my
heart
!
Death
!
great
proprietor
of
all
!
't
is
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
?
Why
thy
peculiar
rancour
wreak'd
on
me
?
Insatiate
archer
!
could
not
one
suffice
?
Thy
shaft
flew
thrice
;
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
?
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
elapsed
,
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
!
I
rue
the
riches
of
my
former
fate
;
Sweet
comfort's
blasted
clusters
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
lustre
but
for
me
,
The
single
man
?
Are
angels
all
beside
?
I
mourn
for
millions
:
't
is
the
common
lot
;
In
this
shape
,
or
in
that
,
has
Fate
entail'd
The
mother's
throes
on
all
of
woman
born
,
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
brass
,
besiege
mankind
.
God'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
,
In
battle
lopp'd
away
,
with
half
their
limbs
,
Beg
bitter
bread
through
realms
their
valour
saved
,
If
so
the
tyrant
,
or
his
minion
,
doom
.
Want
,
and
incurable
Disease
,
(
fell
pair
!
)
On
hopeless
multitudes
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
!
To
shock
us
more
,
—
solicit
it
in
vain
!
Ye
silken
sons
of
Pleasure
!
since
in
pains
You
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
,
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
dote
on
most
From
that
for
which
we
dote
,
felicity
!
The
smoothest
course
of
nature
has
its
pains
;
And
truest
friends
,
through
error
,
wound
our
rest
.
Without
misfortune
,
what
calamities
!
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
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
passions
bite
,
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
.
More
generous
sorrow
,
while
it
sinks
,
exalts
;
And
conscious
virtue
mitigates
the
pang
.
Nor
Virtue
,
more
than
Prudence
,
bids
me
give
Swollen
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
!
Wouldst
thou
I
should
congratulate
thy
fate
?
I
know
thou
wouldst
;
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
art
thou
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
;
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
siren
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
;
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
,
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
!
thy
last
sigh
Dissolved
the
charm
;
the
disenchanted
earth
Lost
all
her
lustre
.
Where
her
glittering
towers
?
Her
golden
mountains
,
where
?
All
darken'd
down
To
naked
waste
;
a
dreary
vale
of
tears
:
The
great
magician's
dead
!
Thou
poor
,
pale
piece
Of
out-cast
earth
,
in
darkness
!
what
a
change
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
!
Man's
foresight
is
conditionally
wise
;
Lorenzo
!
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
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
?
Where
is
to-morrow
?
In
another
world
.
For
numbers
this
is
certain
;
the
reverse
Is
sure
to
none
;
and
yet
on
this
Perhaps
,
This
Peradventure
,
infamous
for
lies
,
As
on
a
rock
of
adamant
we
build
Our
mountain-hopes
;
spin
out
eternal
schemes
,
As
we
the
Fatal
Sisters
could
out-spin
,
And
,
big
with
life's
futurities
,
expire
.
Not
e'en
Philander
had
bespoke
his
shroud
.
Nor
had
he
cause
;
a
warning
was
denied
:
How
many
fall
as
sudden
,
not
as
safe
!
As
sudden
,
though
for
years
admonish'd
home
!
Of
human
ills
the
last
extreme
beware
;
Beware
,
Lorenzo
!
a
slow-sudden
death
.
How
dreadful
that
deliberate
surprise
!
Be
wise
to-day
,
't
is
madness
to
defer
;
Next
day
the
fatal
precedent
will
plead
;
Thus
on
,
till
wisdom
is
push'd
out
of
life
.
Procrastination
is
the
thief
of
time
;
Year
after
year
it
steals
,
till
all
are
fled
,
And
to
the
mercies
of
a
moment
leaves
The
vast
concerns
of
an
eternal
scene
.
If
not
so
frequent
,
would
not
this
be
strange
?
That
't
is
so
frequent
,
this
is
stranger
still
.
Of
man's
miraculous
mistakes
,
this
bears
The
palm
,
"
That
all
men
are
about
to
live
,
"
For
ever
on
the
brink
of
being
born
.
All
pay
themselves
the
compliment
to
think
They
one
day
shall
not
drivel
;
and
their
pride
On
this
reversion
takes
up
ready
praise
,
At
least
their
own
;
their
future
selves
applauds
;
How
excellent
that
life
they
ne'er
will
lead
!
Time
lodged
in
their
own
hands
is
folly's
vails
;
That
lodged
in
Fate's
,
to
wisdom
they
consign
;
The
thing
they
can't
but
purpose
they
postpone
.
'T
is
not
in
folly
not
to
scorn
a
fool
;
And
scarce
in
human
wisdom
to
do
more
.
All
promise
is
poor
dilatory
man
,
And
that
through
every
stage
:
when
young
,
indeed
,
In
full
content
we
sometimes
nobly
rest
,
Unanxious
for
ourselves
;
and
only
wish
,
As
duteous
sons
,
our
fathers
were
more
wise
.
At
thirty
,
man
suspects
himself
a
fool
;
Knows
it
at
forty
,
and
reforms
his
plan
;
At
fifty
,
chides
his
infamous
delay
,
Pushes
his
prudent
purpose
to
resolve
;
In
all
the
magnanimity
of
thought
Resolves
,
and
re-resolves
;
then
dies
the
same
.
And
why
?
Because
he
thinks
himself
immortal
.
All
men
think
all
men
mortal
but
themselves
;
Themselves
,
when
some
alarming
shock
of
Fate
Strikes
through
their
wounded
hearts
the
sudden
dread
.
But
their
hearts
wounded
,
like
the
wounded
air
,
Soon
close
;
where
pass'd
the
shaft
,
no
trace
is
found
.
As
from
the
wing
no
scar
the
sky
retains
,
The
parted
wave
no
furrow
from
the
keel
,
So
dies
in
human
hearts
the
thought
of
death
.
E'en
with
the
tender
tear
which
Nature
sheds
O'er
those
we
love
,
we
drop
it
in
their
grave
.
Can
I
forget
Philander
?
That
were
strange
.
O
my
full
heart
!
—
But
should
I
give
it
vent
,
The
longest
night
,
though
longer
far
,
would
fail
,
And
the
lark
listen
to
my
midnight
song
.
The
sprightly
lark's
shrill
matin
wakes
the
morn
;
Griefs
sharpest
thorn
hard
pressing
on
my
breast
,
I
strive
,
with
wakeful
melody
,
to
cheer
The
sullen
gloom
,
sweet
Philomel
!
like
thee
,
And
call
the
stars
to
listen
:
every
star
Is
deaf
to
mine
,
enamour'd
of
thy
lay
.
Yet
be
not
vain
;
there
are
who
thine
excel
,
And
charm
through
distant
ages
.
Wrapt
in
shade
,
Prisoner
of
darkness
!
to
the
silent
hours
,
How
often
I
repeat
their
rage
divine
,
To
lull
my
griefs
,
and
steal
my
heart
from
woe
!
I
roll
their
raptures
,
but
not
catch
their
fire
;
Dark
,
though
not
blind
,
like
thee
,
Maeonides
!
Or
,
Milton
,
thee
!
Ah
!
could
I
reach
your
strain
!
Or
his
who
made
Maeonides
our
own
!
Man
,
too
,
he
sung
:
immortal
man
I
sing
:
Oft
bursts
my
song
beyond
the
bounds
of
life
;
What
now
but
immortality
can
please
?
O
had
he
press'd
his
theme
,
pursued
the
track
Which
opens
out
of
darkness
into
day
;
O
had
he
mounted
on
his
wing
of
fire
,
Soar'd
where
I
sink
,
and
sung
immortal
man
;
How
had
it
bless'd
mankind
,
and
rescued
me
!