Complete Works of Edward Young, page 27
By daring man, he makes her sacred awe
(That guard from ill) his shelter, his temptation
To more than common guilt, and quite inverts
Celestial art’s intent. The trembling stars
See crimes gigantic, stalking through the gloom
With front erect, that hide their head by day,
And making night still darker by their deeds.
Slumbering in covert, till the shades descend,
Rapine and Murder, link’d, now prowl for prey.
The miser earths his treasure; and the thief, 950
Watching the mole, half beggars him ere morn.
Now plots, and foul conspiracies, awake;
And, muffling up their horrors from the moon,
Havoc and devastation they prepare,
And kingdoms tottering in the field of blood.
Now sons of riot in mid-revel rage.
What shall I do? — suppress it? or proclaim? —
Why sleeps the thunder? Now, Lorenzo! now,
His best friend’s couch the rank adulterer
Ascends secure; and laughs at gods and men. 960
Preposterous madmen, void of fear or shame,
Lay their crimes bare to these chaste eyes of Heaven;
Yet shrink, and shudder, at a mortal’s sight.
Were moon, and stars, for villains only made?
To guide, yet screen them, with tenebrious62 light?
No; they were made to fashion the sublime 966
Of human hearts, and wiser make the wise.
Those ends were answer’d once; when mortals lived
Of stronger wing, of aquiline ascent
In theory sublime. O how unlike
Those vermin of the night, this moment sung,
Who crawl on earth, and on her venom feed! 972
Those ancient sages, human stars! They met
Their brothers of the skies, at midnight hour;
Their counsel ask’d; and, what they ask’d, obey’d.
The Stagirite, and Plato, he who drank63
The poison’d bowl, and he of Tusculum,64
With him of Corduba,65 (immortal names!)
In these unbounded, and Elysian, walks,
An area fit for gods, and godlike men, 980
They took their nightly round, through radiant paths
By seraphs trod; instructed, chiefly, thus,
To tread in their bright footsteps here below;
To walk in worth still brighter than the skies.
There they contracted their contempt of earth;
Of hopes eternal kindled, there, the fire;
There, as in near approach, they glow’d, and grew
(Great visitants!) more intimate with God,
More worth to men, more joyous to themselves.
Through various virtues, they, with ardour, ran 990
The zodiac of their learn’d, illustrious lives.
In Christian hearts, O for a Pagan zeal!
A needful, but opprobrious prayer! As much
Our ardour less, as greater is our light.
How monstrous this in morals! Scarce more strange
Would this phenomenon in nature strike,
A sun, that froze her, or a star, that warm’d.
What taught these heroes of the moral world? 998
To these thou givest thy praise, give credit too.
These doctors ne’er were pension’d to deceive thee;
And Pagan tutors are thy taste. — They taught,
That, narrow views betray to misery:
That, wise it is to comprehend the whole:
That, virtue, rose from nature, ponder’d well,
The single base of virtue built to heaven:
That God, and nature, our attention claim:
That nature is the glass reflecting God,
As, by the sea, reflected is the sun,
Too glorious to be gazed on in his sphere:
That, mind immortal loves immortal aims: 1010
That, boundless mind affects a boundless space:
That vast surveys, and the sublime of things,
The soul assimilate, and make her great:
That, therefore, heaven her glories, as a fund
Of inspiration, thus spreads out to man.
Such are their doctrines; such the Night inspired.
And what more true? what truth of greater weight?
The soul of man was made to walk the skies;
Delightful outlet of her prison here!
There, disencumber’d from her chains, the ties 1020
Of toys terrestrial, she can rove at large;
There, freely can respire, dilate, extend,
In full proportion let loose all her powers;
And, undeluded, grasp at something great.
Nor, as a stranger, does she wander there;
But, wonderful herself, through wonder strays;
Contemplating their grandeur, finds her own;
Dives deep in their economy divine,
Sits high in judgment on their various laws,
And, like a master, judges not amiss. 1030
Hence greatly pleased, and justly proud, the soul
Grows conscious of her birth celestial; breathes 1032
More life, more vigour, in her native air;
And feels herself at home amongst the stars;
And, feeling, emulates her country’s praise.
What call we, then, the firmament, Lorenzo? —
As earth the body, since the skies sustain
The soul with food, that gives immortal life,
Call it, the noble pasture of the mind;
Which there expatiates, strengthens, and exults, 1040
And riots through the luxuries of thought.
Call it, the garden of the Deity,
Blossom’d with stars, redundant in the growth
Of fruit ambrosial; moral fruit to man.
Call it, the breastplate of the true High Priest,
Ardent with gems oracular, that give,
In points of highest moment, right response;
And ill neglected, if we prize our peace.
Thus, have we found a true astrology;
Thus, have we found a new, and noble sense, 1050
In which alone stars govern human fates.
O that the stars (as some have feign’d) let fall
Bloodshed, and havoc, on embattled realms,
And rescued monarchs from so black a guilt!
Bourbon! this wish how generous in a foe!
Would’st thou be great, would’st thou become a god,
And stick thy deathless name among the stars,
For mighty conquests on a needle’s point?
Instead of forging chains for foreigners,
Bastile thy tutor: grandeur all thy aim? 1060
As yet thou know’st not what it is: how great,
How glorious, then, appears the mind of man,
When in it all the stars, and planets, roll!
And what it seems, it is: great objects make
Great minds, enlarging as their views enlarge; 1065
Those still more godlike, as these more divine.
And more divine than these, thou canst not see.
Dazzled, o’erpower’d, with the delicious draught
Of miscellaneous splendours, how I reel
From thought to thought, inebriate, without end!
An Eden, this! a Paradise unlost!
I meet the Deity in every view, 1072
And tremble at my nakedness before him!
O that I could but reach the tree of life!
For here it grows, unguarded from our taste;
No flaming sword denies our entrance here;
Would man but gather, he might live for ever.
Lorenzo! much of moral hast thou seen.
Of curious arts art thou more fond? Then mark
The mathematic glories of the skies, 1080
In number, weight, and measure, all ordain’d.
Lorenzo’s boasted builders, Chance, and Fate,
Are left to finish his aërial towers;
Wisdom and choice, their well-known characters
Here deep impress; and claim it for their own.
Though splendid all, no splendour void of use;
Use rivals beauty; art contends with power;
No wanton waste, amid effuse expense;
The great Economist adjusting all
To prudent pomp, magnificently wise. 1090
How rich the prospect! and for ever new!
And newest to the man that views it most;
For newer still in infinite succeeds.
Then, these aërial racers, O how swift!
How the shaft loiters from the strongest string!
Spirit alone can distance the career.
Orb above orb ascending without end!
Circle in circle, without end, enclosed!
Wheel, within wheel; Ezekiel! like to thine! 1099
Like thine, it seems a vision or a dream;
Though seen, we labour to believe it true!
What involution! what extent! what swarms
Of worlds, that laugh at earth! immensely great!
Immensely distant from each other’s spheres!
What, then, the wondrous space through which they roll?
At once it quite engulfs all human thought;
’Tis comprehension’s absolute defeat.
Nor think thou seest a wild disorder here;
Through this illustrious chaos to the sight,
Arrangement neat, and chastest order, reign. 1110
The path prescribed, inviolably kept,
Upbraids the lawless sallies of mankind.
Worlds, ever thwarting, never interfere;
What knots are tied! how soon are they dissolved,
And set the seeming married planets free!
They rove for ever, without error rove;
Confusion unconfused! nor less admire
This tumult untumultuous; all on wing!
In motion, all! yet what profound repose!
What fervid action, yet no noise! as awed 1120
To silence, by the presence of their Lord;
Or hush’d by His command, in love to man,
And bid let fall soft beams on human rest,
Restless themselves. On yon cerulean plain,
In exultation to their God, and thine,
They dance, they sing eternal jubilee,
Eternal celebration of His praise.
But, since their song arrives not at our ear,
Their dance perplex’d exhibits to the sight
Fair hieroglyphic of His peerless power. 1130
Mark how the labyrinthian turns they take,
The circles intricate, and mystic maze,
Weave the grand cipher of Omnipotence; 1133
To gods, how great! how legible to man!
Leaves so much wonder greater wonder still?
Where are the pillars that support the skies?
What more than Atlantean shoulder props
Th’ incumbent load? What magic, what strange art,
In fluid air these ponderous orbs sustains?
Who would not think them hung in golden chains? — 1140
And so they are; in the high will of heaven,
Which fixes all; makes adamant of air,
Or air of adamant; makes all of nought,
Or nought of all; if such the dread decree.
Imagine from their deep foundations torn
The most gigantic sons of earth, the broad
And towering Alps, all toss’d into the sea;
And, light as down, or volatile as air,
Their bulks enormous, dancing on the waves,
In time, and measure, exquisite; while all 1150
The winds, in emulation of the spheres,
Tune their sonorous instruments aloft;
The concert swell, and animate the ball.
Would this appear amazing? What, then, worlds,
In a far thinner element sustain’d,
And acting the same part, with greater skill,
More rapid movement, and for noblest ends?
More obvious ends to pass, are not these stars
The seats majestic, proud imperial thrones,
On which angelic delegates of heaven, 1160
At certain periods, as the Sovereign nods,
Discharge high trusts of vengeance, or of love;
To clothe, in outward grandeur, grand design,
And acts most solemn still more solemnize?
Ye citizens of air! what ardent thanks,
What full effusion of the grateful heart,
Is due from man indulged in such a sight! 1167
A sight so noble! and a sight so kind!
It drops new truths at every new survey!
Feels not Lorenzo something stir within,
That sweeps away all period? As these spheres
Measure duration, they no less inspire
The godlike hope of ages without end.
The boundless space, through which these rovers take
Their restless roam, suggests the sister thought
Of boundless time. Thus, by kind Nature’s skill,
To man unlabour’d, that important guest,
Eternity, finds entrance at the sight:
And an eternity, for man ordain’d,
Or these his destined midnight counsellors, 1180
The stars, had never whisper’d it to man.
Nature informs, but ne’er insults, her sons.
Could she then kindle the most ardent wish
To disappoint it? — That is blasphemy.
Thus, of thy creed a second article,
Momentous, as th’ existence of a God,
Is found (as I conceive) where rarely sought;
And thou may’st read thy soul immortal, here.
Here, then, Lorenzo! on these glories dwell;
Nor want the gilt, illuminated, roof, 1190
That calls the wretched gay to dark delights.
Assemblies? — This is one divinely bright;
Here, unendanger’d in health, wealth, or fame,
Range through the fairest, and the Sultan scorn;
He, wise as thou, no crescent holds so fair,
As that, which on his turban awes a world;
And thinks the moon is proud to copy him.
Look on her, and gain more than worlds can give,
A mind superior to the charms of power.
Thou muffled in delusions of this life! 1200
Can yonder moon turn ocean in his bed, 1201
From side to side, in constant ebb, and flow,
And purify from stench his watery realms?
And fails her moral influence? wants she power
To turn Lorenzo’s stubborn tide of thought
From stagnating on earth’s infected shore,
And purge from nuisance his corrupted heart?
Fails her attraction when it draws to heaven?
Nay, and to what thou valuest more, earth’s joy?
Minds elevate, and panting for unseen, 1210
And defecate66 from sense, alone obtain
Full relish of existence undeflower’d,
The life of life, the zest of worldly bliss:
All else on earth amounts — to what? to this:
“Bad to be suffer’d; blessings to be left:”
Earth’s richest inventory boasts no more.
Of higher scenes be, then, the call obey’d.
O let me gaze! — Of gazing there’s no end.
O let me think! — Thought too is wilder’d here;
In midway flight imagination tires; 1220
Yet soon reprunes her wing to soar anew,
Her point unable to forbear, or gain;
So great the pleasure, so profound the plan!
A banquet, this, where men, and angels, meet,
Eat the same manna, mingle earth and heaven.
How distant some of these nocturnal suns!
So distant (says the sage), ‘twere not absurd
To doubt, if beams, set out at Nature’s birth,
Are yet arrived at this so foreign world;
Though nothing half so rapid as their flight. 1230
An eye of awe and wonder let me roll,
And roll for ever: who can satiate sight
In such a scene? in such an ocean wide
Of deep astonishment? where depth, height, breadth,
Are lost in their extremes; and where to count 1235
The thick-sown glories in this field of fire,
Perhaps a seraph’s computation fails.
Now, go, Ambition! boast thy boundless might
In conquest, o’er the tenth part of a grain.
And yet Lorenzo calls for miracles,
To give his tottering faith a solid base.
Why call for less than is already thine? 1242
Thou art no novice in theology;
What is a miracle?— ’Tis a reproach,
’Tis an implicit satire, on mankind;
And while it satisfies, it censures too.
To common sense, great Nature’s course proclaims
A Deity: when mankind falls asleep,
A miracle is sent, as an alarm;
To wake the world, and prove Him o’er again, 1250
By recent argument, but not more strong.
Say, which imports more plenitude of power,
Or nature’s laws to fix, or to repeal?
To make a sun, or stop his mid career?
To countermand his orders, and send back
The flaming courier to the frighted east,
Warm’d, and astonish’d, at his evening ray?
Or bid the moon, as with her journey tired,
In Ajalon’s67 soft, flowery vale repose?
Great things are these; still greater, to create. 1260
From Adam’s bower look down through the whole train
Of miracles; — resistless is their power?
They do not, can not, more amaze the mind,
Than this, call’d unmiraculous survey,
If duly weigh’d, if rationally seen,
If seen with human eyes. The brute, indeed,
Sees nought but spangles here; the fool, no more.
Say’st thou, “The course of nature governs all?”
The course of Nature is the art of God. 1269
The miracles thou call’st for, this attest;
For say, could Nature Nature’s course control?
But, miracles apart, who sees Him not,
Nature’s controller, author, guide, and end?
Who turns his eye on Nature’s midnight face,
But must inquire— “What hand behind the scene,
What arm almighty, put these wheeling globes
