NARCISSA.
45
Ungrateful, shall we grieve their hov'ring Shades,
Which wait the Revolution in our Hearts?
Shall we disdain their silent, soft Address;
Their posthumous Advice, and pious Pray'r?
Senseless, as Herds that graze their hallow'd Graves,
Tread under-foot their Agonies and Groans;
Frustrate their Anguish, and destroy their Deaths?
Lorenzo! no; the Thought of Death indulge;
Give it its wholsome Empire! let it reign,
That kind Chastiser of thy Soul in Joy!
Its Reign will spread thy glorious Conquests far,
And still the Tumults of thy ruffled Breast:
Auspicious Æra! Golden Days, begin!
The Thought of Death, shall, like a God, inspire.
And why not think on Death? Is Life the Theme
Of ev'ry Thought? and With of ev'ry Hour?
And Song of ev'ry Joy? Surprising Truth!
The beaten Spaniel's Fondness not so strange.
To wave the num'rous Ills that seize on Life
As their own Property, their lawful Prey;
Ere Man has measur'd half his weary Stage,
His Luxuries have left him no Reserve,
No maiden Relishes, unbroacht Delights;
On cold-serv'd Repetitions He subsists,
And in the tasteless Present chews the Past;
Disgusted chews, and scarce can swallow down.
Like lavish Ancestors, his earlier Years
Have disinherited his future Hours,
Which starve on Orts, and glean their former Field.
Live ever Here, Lorenzo!—Shocking Thought!
So shocking, they who wish, disown it too;
Disown from Shame, what they from Folly crave,
Live ever in the Womb, nor see the Light?
For what live ever Here?—With lab'ring Step
To tread our former Footsteps? Pace the Round
Which wait the Revolution in our Hearts?
Shall we disdain their silent, soft Address;
Their posthumous Advice, and pious Pray'r?
Senseless, as Herds that graze their hallow'd Graves,
Tread under-foot their Agonies and Groans;
Frustrate their Anguish, and destroy their Deaths?
Lorenzo! no; the Thought of Death indulge;
Give it its wholsome Empire! let it reign,
That kind Chastiser of thy Soul in Joy!
Its Reign will spread thy glorious Conquests far,
And still the Tumults of thy ruffled Breast:
Auspicious Æra! Golden Days, begin!
The Thought of Death, shall, like a God, inspire.
And why not think on Death? Is Life the Theme
Of ev'ry Thought? and With of ev'ry Hour?
And Song of ev'ry Joy? Surprising Truth!
The beaten Spaniel's Fondness not so strange.
To wave the num'rous Ills that seize on Life
As their own Property, their lawful Prey;
Ere Man has measur'd half his weary Stage,
His Luxuries have left him no Reserve,
No maiden Relishes, unbroacht Delights;
On cold-serv'd Repetitions He subsists,
And in the tasteless Present chews the Past;
Disgusted chews, and scarce can swallow down.
Like lavish Ancestors, his earlier Years
Have disinherited his future Hours,
Which starve on Orts, and glean their former Field.
Live ever Here, Lorenzo!—Shocking Thought!
So shocking, they who wish, disown it too;
Disown from Shame, what they from Folly crave,
Live ever in the Womb, nor see the Light?
For what live ever Here?—With lab'ring Step
To tread our former Footsteps? Pace the Round
Eternal?
