Edward Young

“ That I might imitate, as well as praise;
For all commend: e'en foes your fame confess; [pg 365]
Nor would Augustus' age have priz'd it less;
An age, which had not held its pride so long,
But for the want of so complete a song.
A golden period shall from you commence:
Peace shall be sign'd 'twixt wit and manly sense;
Whether your genius or your rank they view,
The muses find their Halifax in you.
Like him succeed! nor think my zeal is shown
For you; 'tis Britain's interest, not your own;
For lofty stations are but golden snares,
Which tempt the great to fall in love with cares. ”

“ So wept Lorenzo fair Clarissa’s fate;
Who gave that angel boy, on whom he doats;
And died to give him, orphan’d in his birth!
Not such, Narcissa, my distress for thee.
I’ll make an altar of thy sacred tomb, 590
To sacrifice to wisdom.—What wast thou?
“Young, gay, and fortunate!” Each yields a theme.
I’ll dwell on each, to shun thought more severe;
(Heaven knows I labour with severer still!) 594
I’ll dwell on each, and quite exhaust thy death.
A soul without reflection, like a pile
Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.
And, first, thy youth. What says it to grey hairs? ”

“ Now she, with violence, Upbraids him; he, not doubting she is guilty, Rages no less; and if on either side The waves run high, there still lives hope of ruin. Re-enter Alonzo. My lord— Alon. Oh, Zanga, hold thy peace! I am no coward; But heav'n itself did hold my hand; I felt it, By the well-being of my soul, I did. I'll think of vengeance at another season. Zan. My lord, her guilt— Alon. Perdition on thee, Moor, For that one word! Ah, do not rouse that thought! I have o'erwhelm'd it much as possible: I tell thee, Moor, I love her to distraction. If 'tis my shame, why, be it so—I love her ”

“ How are you cheated by your wit!
Old age is bound to pay,
By nature's law, a mind discreet,
For joys it takes away;
A mighty change is wrought by years,
Reversing human lot;
In age 'tis honour to lie hid,
'Tis praise to be forgot;
The wise, as flowers, which spread at noon,
And all their charms expose,
When evening damps and shades descend,
Their evolutions close.
What though your muse has nobly soar'd,
Is that our truth sublime?
Ours, hoary friend! is to prefer
Eternity to time:
Why close a life so justly fam'd
With such bold trash as this?54
This for renown? ”

“ 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 hell 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!
How is night’s sable mantle labour’d o’er,
How richly wrought with attributes divine!
What wisdom shines! what love! This midnight pomp,
This gorgeous arch, with golden worlds inlaid! ”

“ My lord, my lord, why will you rack my soul? Alon. Oh, she was all! My fame, my friendship, and my love of arms, All stoop'd to her; my blood was her possession. Deep in the secret foldings of my heart She liv'd with life, and far the dearer she: To think on't is the torment of the damn'd, And not to think on't is impossible. Zan. You said you'd bear it like a man. Alon. I do. Am I not most distracted? Zan. Pray, be calm. Alon. As hurricanes:—be thou assur'd of that. Zan. Is this the wise Alonzo? ”

“ And, thro' th' unclouded crystal of thine eye,
The heavenly treasures of thy mind to spy!
Till rapture reason happily destroys,
And my soul wanders through immortal joys!
Give me the world, and ask me, where's my bliss?
I clasp thee to my breast, and answer, this.
And shall the grave"—He groans, and can no more;
But all her charms in silence traces o'er;
Her lip, her cheek, and eye, to wonder wrought;
And, wond'ring, sees, in sad presaging thought,
From that fair neck, that world of beauty fall,
And roll along the dust, a ghastly ball!
Oh! let those tremble, who are greatly bless'd! ”

“ His throne their centre, and his smile their crown.
Why doubt we, then, the glorious truth to sing,
Though yet unsung, as deem’d, perhaps, too bold?
Angels are men of a superior kind;
Angels are men in lighter habit clad,
High o’er celestial mountains wing’d in flight;
And men are angels, loaded for an hour,
Who wade this miry vale, and climb with pain,
And slippery step, the bottom of the steep.
Angels their failings, mortals have their praise;
While here, of corps ethereal, such enroll’d, 540
And summon’d to the glorious standard soon,
Which flames eternal crimson through the skies. ”

“ Enter Don Alonzo. My lord, I give you joy. Alon. Of what, good Zanga? Zan. Is not the lovely Leonora yours? Alon. What will become of Carlos? Zan. He's your friend; And since he can't espouse the fair himself, Will take some comfort from Alonzo's fortune. Alon. Alas, thou little know'st the force of love! Love reigns a sultan with unrival'd sway; Puts all relations, friendship's self to death, If once he's jealous of it. I love Carlos; Yet well I know what pangs I felt this morning At his intended nuptials. ”

“ Fix'd is the fate of whores and fiddle-strings!
Tho' bold these truths, thou, muse, with truths like these,
Wilt none offend, whom 'tis a praise to please:
Let others flatter to be flatter'd, thou,
Like just tribunals, bend an awful brow.
How terrible it were to common sense,
To write a satire, which gave none offence!
And, since from life I take the draughts you see,
If men dislike them, do they censure me?
The fool, and knave, 'tis glorious to offend,
And godlike an attempt the world to mend;
The world, where lucky throws to blockheads fall,
Knaves know the game, and honest men pay all. ”

“ Our nature such, ill choice ensures ill fate;
And hell had been, though there had been no God.
Dost thou not know, my new astronomer! 2010
Earth, turning from the sun, brings night to man?
Man, turning from his God, brings endless night;
Where thou canst read no morals, find no friend,
Amend no manners, and expect no peace.
How deep the darkness! and the groan, how loud!
And far, how far, from lambent are the flames!—
Such is Lorenzo’s purchase! such his praise!
The proud, the politic, Lorenzo’s praise!
Though in his ear, and levell’d at his heart,
I’ve half read o’er the volume of the skies. ”

“ Re-enter Zanga. Zan. How stands the great account 'twixt me and vengeance? Though much is paid, yet still it owes me much, And I will not abate a single groan— Ha! that were well—but that were fatal too— Why, be it so—Revenge so truly great, Would come too cheap, if bought with less than life. Re-enter Isabella. Isa. Ah, Zanga, see me tremble! has not yet Thy cruel heart its fill?—Poor Leonora— Zan. Welters in blood, and gasps for her last breath. What then? we all must die. Isa. Alonzo raves, And, in the tempest of his grief, has thrice Attempted on his life. ”

“ How one man's anguish is another's sport;
And ev'n denials cost us dear at court.
How man eternally false judgments makes,
And all his joys and sorrows are mistakes.
This swarm of themes that settles on my pen,
Which I, like summer flies, shake off again,
Let others sing; to whom my weak essay
But sounds a prelude, and points out their prey:
That duty done, I hasten to complete
My own design; for Tonson's at the gate.
The love of fame in its effect survey'd,
The muse has sung; be now the cause display'd:
Since so diffusive, and so wide its sway,
What is this power, whom all mankind obey? ”

“ To faith, and virtue, why so backward, man?
From hence:—the present strongly strikes us all; 1430
The future, faintly: can we, then, be men?
If men, Lorenzo! the reverse is right.
Reason is man’s peculiar: Sense, the brute’s.
The present is the scanty realm of Sense;
The future, Reason’s empire unconfined:
On that expending all her godlike power,
She plans, provides, expatiates, triumphs, there;
There, builds her blessings; there, expects her praise;
And nothing asks of Fortune, or of men.
And what is Reason? Be she thus defined; 1440
Reason is upright stature in the soul. ”

“ Is this Alonzo? Where's the haughty mien? Is that the hand which smote me? Heavens, how pale! And art thou dead? So is my enmity. I war not with the dust. The great, the proud, The conqueror of Afric was my foe. A lion preys not upon carcases. This was thy only method to subdue me. Terror and doubt fall on me: all thy good Now blazes, all thy guilt is in the grave. Never had man such funeral applause: If I lament thee, sure thy worth was great. Oh, vengeance, I have follow'd thee too far, And to receive me, hell blows all her fires. ”

“ The strictest honour! and the finest taste!
Accept this verse; if satire can agree
With so consummate a humanity.
By your example would Hilario mend,
How would it grace the talents of my friend,
Who, with the charms of his own genius smit,
Conceives all virtues are compris'd in wit!
But time his fervent petulance may cool;
For though he is a wit, he is no fool.
In time he'll learn to use, not waste, his sense;
Nor make a frailty of an excellence.
He spares nor friend, nor foe; but calls to mind,
Like doomsday, all the faults of all mankind. ”

“ Song, beauty, youth, love, virtue, joy! this group
Of bright ideas, flowers of paradise,
As yet unforfeit! in one blaze we bind,
Kneel, and present it to the skies; as all
We guess of heaven: and these were all her own.
And she was mine; and I was—was!—most blest!—
Gay title of the deepest misery! 100
As bodies grow more ponderous, robb’d of life;
Good lost weighs more in grief, than gain’d, in joy.
Like blossom’d trees o’erturn’d by vernal storm,
Lovely in death the beauteous ruin lay;
And if in death still lovely, lovelier there;
Far lovelier! pity swells the tide of love. ”

“ Enter Leonora. Alon. When nature ends with anguish like to this, Sinners shall take their last leave of the sun, And bid his light adieu. Leon. The mighty conqueror Dismay'd! I thought you gave the foe your sorrows. Alon. Oh, cruel insult! are those tears your sport, Which nothing but a love for you could draw? Afric I quell'd, in hope by that to purchase Your leave to sigh unscorn'd; but I complain not; 'Twas but a world, and you are—Leonora. Leon. That passion which you boast of is your guilt, A treason to your friend. ”

“ Nothing is great, of which more great,
More glorious is the scorn.
Can fame your carcass from the worm
Which gnaws us in the grave,
Or soul from that which never dies,
Applauding Europe save?
But fame you lose; good sense alone
Your idol, praise, can claim;
When wild wit murders happiness,
It puts to death our fame!
Nor boast your genius, talents bright;
E'en dunces will despise,
If in your western beams is miss'd
A genius for the skies;
Your taste too fails; what most excels
True taste must relish most! ”

“ Who draws the sword reluctant, gladly sheathes; 363
On empire builds what empire far outweighs,
And makes his throne a scaffold to the skies.
Why this so rare? Because forgot of all
The day of death; that venerable day,
Which sits as judge; that day, which shall pronounce
On all our days, absolve them, or condemn.
Lorenzo, never shut thy thought against it; 370
Be levees ne’er so full, afford it room,
And give it audience in the cabinet.
That friend consulted, flatteries apart,
Will tell thee fair, if thou art great, or mean.
To doat on aught may leave us, or be left,
Is that ambition? ”

“ But bid physicians talk our veins to temper, And with an argument new-set a pulse; Then think, my lord, of reas'ning into love. Car. Must I despair then? do not shake me thus: My temper-beaten heart is cold to death. Ah, turn, and let me warm me in thy beauties. Heav'ns! what a proof I gave, but two nights past, Of matchless love! To fling me at thy feet, I slighted friendship, and I flew from fame; Nor heard the summons of the next day's battle: But darting headlong to thy arms, I left The promis'd fight, I left Alonzo too, To stand the war, and quell a world alone. ”

“ In spite of all our wisdom, you'll proceed:
Our pride so great, our passion is so strong,
Advice to right confirms us in the wrong.
I hear you cry, "This fellow's very odd."
When you chastise, who would not kiss the rod?
But I've a charm your anger shall control,
And turn your eyes with coldness on the vole.
The charm begins! To yonder flood of light,
That bursts o'er gloomy Britain, turn your sight.
What guardian power o'erwhelms your souls with awe?
Her deeds are precepts, her example law;
'Midst empire's charms, how Carolina's heart
Glows with the love of virtue, and of art! ”

“ I’ll introduce Lorenzo to himself; 404
Pleasure and Pride (bad masters!) share our hearts.
As love of pleasure is ordain’d to guard
And feed our bodies, and extend our race;
The love of praise is planted to protect,
And propagate the glories of the mind.
What is it, but the love of praise, inspires,
Matures, refines, embellishes, exalts,
Earth’s happiness? From that, the delicate, 412
The grand, the marvellous, of civil life,
Want and convenience, underworkers, lay
The basis, on which love of glory builds.
Nor is thy life, O Virtue! less in debt
To praise, thy secret stimulating friend. ”

“ Who durst to frame a world by accident.
What he has sung, how early and how well,
The Thames shall boast, and Roman Tiber tell.
A glory more sublime remains in store,
Since such his talents, that he sung no more.
No fuller proof of power th' Almighty gave,
Making the sea, than curbing her proud wave.
Nought can the genius of his works transcend,
But their fair purpose and important end;
To rouse the war for injur'd Europe's laws,
To steel the patriot in great Brunswick's cause;
With virtue's charms to kindle sacred love,
Or paint th' eternal bowers of bliss above. ”

“ Of argument? One sets my soul at rest!
One obvious, and at hand, and, oh!—at heart.
So just the skies, Philander’s life so pain’d,
His heart so pure; that, or succeeding scenes
Have palms to give, or ne’er had he been born. 983
“What an old tale is this!” Lorenzo cries.—
I grant this argument is old; but truth
No years impair; and had not this been true,
Thou never hadst despised it for its age.
Truth is immortal as thy soul; and fable
As fleeting as thy joys: be wise, nor make
Heaven’s highest blessing, vengeance; oh, be wise! 990
Nor make a curse of immortality. ”

“ When we discern so rich a vein of sense,
Through the smooth flow of purest eloquence;
'Tis like the limpid streams of Tagus roll'd
O'er boundless wealth, o'er shining beds of gold.
But whence so finish'd, so refin'd a piece?
The tongue denies it to old Rome and Greece;
The genius bids the moderns doubt their claim,
And slowly take possession of the fame.
But I nor know, nor care, by whom 'twas writ,
Enough for me that 'tis from human wit;
That soothes my pride: all glory in the pen
Which has done honour to the race of men. ”

“ 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 ”

“ Men may too oft, though not too much, excel.
A few good works gain fame; more sink their price;
Mankind are fickle, and hate paying twice:
They granted you writ well, what can they more,
Unless you let them praise for giving o'er?
Do boldly what you do, and let your page
Smile, if it smiles, and if it rages, rage.
So faintly Lucius censures and commends,
That Lucius has no foes, except his friends.
Let satire less engage you than applause;
It shows a gen'rous mind to wink at flaws:
Is genius yours? be yours a glorious end,
Be your king's, country's, truth's, religion's friend ”

“ Eternal day! ’tis that enlightens all;
And all, by that enlighten’d, proves it sure.
Consider man as an immortal being,
Intelligible all; and all is great;
A crystalline transparency prevails,
And strikes full lustre through the human sphere:
Consider man as mortal, all is dark,
And wretched; Reason weeps at the survey.
The learn’d Lorenzo cries, “And let her weep,
Weak, modern Reason: ancient times were wise. 560
Authority, that venerable guide,
Stands on my part; the famed Athenian porch
(And who for wisdom so renown’d as they?)
Denied this immortality to man.” ”

“ Think private merit less than public fame,
And fancy not to write is not to live;
Deserve, and take, the great prerogative.
But ponder what it is; how dear 'twill cost,
To write one page which you may justly boast.
Sense may be good, yet not deserve the press;
Who write, an awful character profess;
The world as pupil of their wisdom claim,
And for their stipend an immortal fame:
Nothing but what is solid or refin'd,
Should dare ask public audience of mankind.
Severely weigh your learning, and your wit:
Keep down your pride by what is nobly writ:
No writer, fam'd in your own way, pass o'er ”