4
The Complaint.
Night I.
And wond'ring 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 tho' my Soul phantastic 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 scal'd the Cliff; or danc'd on hollow Winds,
With antic Shapes, wild Natives of the Brain?
Her ceaseless flight, tho' devious, speaks her Nature
Of subtler Essence than the trodden Clod;
Active, aëreal, tow'ring; unconfin'd,
Unfetter'd with her gross Companion's Fall.
Ev'n silent Night proclaims my Soul immortal:
Ev'n silent Night proclaims eternal Day.
For human Weal, Heav'n 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, rak'd up in Dust, Ethereal Fire?
They live! they greatly live a Life on Earth
Unkindled, unconceiv'd; and from an Eye
Of Tenderness, let heav'nly Pity fall
On me, more justly number'd with the Dead.
This is the Desart, this the solitude:
How populous! how vital is the Grave!
This is Creation's melancholy Vault,
The Vale funereal, the sad Cypress gloom;
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 tho' my Soul phantastic 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 scal'd the Cliff; or danc'd on hollow Winds,
With antic Shapes, wild Natives of the Brain?
Her ceaseless flight, tho' devious, speaks her Nature
Of subtler Essence than the trodden Clod;
Active, aëreal, tow'ring; unconfin'd,
Unfetter'd with her gross Companion's Fall.
Ev'n silent Night proclaims my Soul immortal:
Ev'n silent Night proclaims eternal Day.
For human Weal, Heav'n 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, rak'd up in Dust, Ethereal Fire?
They live! they greatly live a Life on Earth
Unkindled, unconceiv'd; and from an Eye
Of Tenderness, let heav'nly Pity fall
On me, more justly number'd with the Dead.
This is the Desart, this the solitude:
How populous! how vital is the Grave!
This is Creation's melancholy Vault,
The Vale funereal, the sad Cypress gloom;
The
