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34
The Complaint.
Night 2.
If sound his virtue; as Philander's, sound,
Heav'n waits not the last moment; owns her friends
On this side death; and points them out to men,
A lecture, silent, but of sov'reign pow'r!
To vice, confusion; and to virtue, peace.
Whatever farce the boastful hero plays,
Virtue alone has Majesty in death;
And greater still, the more the tyrant frowns.
Philander! he severely frown'd on Thee.
"No warning giv'n! Unceremonious fate!
"A sudden rush from life's meridian joys!
"A wrench from all we love! from all we are!
"A restless bed of pain! a plunge opaque
"Beyond conjecture! Feeble nature's dread!
"Strong reason's shudder at the dark unknown!
"A Sun extinguisht! a just opening grave!
"And Oh! the last, last; what? (can words express?
"Thought reach it?) the last—Silence of a friend!'
Where are those horrors, that amazement, where,
This hideous group of ills, which singly shock,
Demand from man?—I thought him man till now.
Thro' nature's wreck, thro' vanquisht agonies,
(Like the star struggling thro' this midnight gloom)
What gleams of joy? what more than human peace?
Where, the frail mortal? the poor abject worm?
No, not in death, the mortal to be found.
His conduct is a legacy for all.
Richer than Mammon's for his single heir.
His comforters he comforts; Great in ruin,
With unreluctant grandeur, gives, not yields
His soul sublime; and closes with his fate.
How our hearts burnt within us at the scene!
Whence, This brave bound o'er limits fixt to man?
His God sustains him in his final hour!
His final hour brings glory to his God!
Heav'n waits not the last moment; owns her friends
On this side death; and points them out to men,
A lecture, silent, but of sov'reign pow'r!
To vice, confusion; and to virtue, peace.
Whatever farce the boastful hero plays,
Virtue alone has Majesty in death;
And greater still, the more the tyrant frowns.
Philander! he severely frown'd on Thee.
"No warning giv'n! Unceremonious fate!
"A sudden rush from life's meridian joys!
"A wrench from all we love! from all we are!
"A restless bed of pain! a plunge opaque
"Beyond conjecture! Feeble nature's dread!
"Strong reason's shudder at the dark unknown!
"A Sun extinguisht! a just opening grave!
"And Oh! the last, last; what? (can words express?
"Thought reach it?) the last—Silence of a friend!'
Where are those horrors, that amazement, where,
This hideous group of ills, which singly shock,
Demand from man?—I thought him man till now.
Thro' nature's wreck, thro' vanquisht agonies,
(Like the star struggling thro' this midnight gloom)
What gleams of joy? what more than human peace?
Where, the frail mortal? the poor abject worm?
No, not in death, the mortal to be found.
His conduct is a legacy for all.
Richer than Mammon's for his single heir.
His comforters he comforts; Great in ruin,
With unreluctant grandeur, gives, not yields
His soul sublime; and closes with his fate.
How our hearts burnt within us at the scene!
Whence, This brave bound o'er limits fixt to man?
His God sustains him in his final hour!
His final hour brings glory to his God!
Man's
