On Life, Death, and Immortality.
7
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 Heav'n!
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! 'tis 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 filled 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 ev'ry vary'd Posture, Place, and Hour,
How widow'd ev'ry Thought of ev'ry Joy!
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 Heav'n!
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! 'tis 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 filled 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 ev'ry vary'd Posture, Place, and Hour,
How widow'd ev'ry Thought of ev'ry Joy!
Thought,
