2
The Complaint.
Night I.
(A bitter change!) severer for severe.
The Day too short for my Distress! and Night,
Ev'n 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 slumb'ring World.
Silence, how dead! and Darkness, how profound!
Nor Eye, nor list'ning Ear, an Object finds;
Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the gen'ral Pulse
Of Life stood still, and Nature made a Pause;
An aweful 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 antient 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
Primæval 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.
Thro' this Opaque of Nature, and of Soul,
This double Night, transmit one pitying Ray,
To lighten, and to chear. O lead my Mind,
(A Mind that fain would wander from its Woe)
Lead it thro' various Scenes of Life and Death;
And from each Scene, the noblest Truths inspire.
The Day too short for my Distress! and Night,
Ev'n 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 slumb'ring World.
Silence, how dead! and Darkness, how profound!
Nor Eye, nor list'ning Ear, an Object finds;
Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the gen'ral Pulse
Of Life stood still, and Nature made a Pause;
An aweful 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 antient 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
Primæval 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.
Thro' this Opaque of Nature, and of Soul,
This double Night, transmit one pitying Ray,
To lighten, and to chear. O lead my Mind,
(A Mind that fain would wander from its Woe)
Lead it thro' various Scenes of Life and Death;
And from each Scene, the noblest Truths inspire.
Nor
