That natural night, once drest with orient beams,
Is now diminish'd, and a twilight seems;
A miscellaneous composition, made

Of night and day, of sunshine and of shade.
Through an uncertain medium now we look,
And find that falsehood, which for truth we took:
So rays projected from the eastern skies,
Show the false day before the Sun can rise.

That little knowledge now which man obtains,
From outward objects, and from sense he gains:
He, like a wretched slave, must plod and sweat;
By day must toil, by night that toil repeat;
And yet, at last, what little fruit he gains!
A beggar's harvest, glean'd with mighty pains!
The passions, still predominant, will rule
Ungovern'd, rude, not bred in Reason's school;
Our understanding they with darkness fill,
Cause strong corruptions, and pervert the will.
On these the soul, as on some flowing tide,
Must sit, and on the raging billows ride,
Hurried away; for how can be withstood
Th' impetuous torrent of the boiling blood?
Begone, false hopes, for all our learning 's vain;
Can we be free where these the rule maintain ?
These are the tools of knowledge which we use;
The spirits heated, will strange things produce.
Tell me, whoe'er the passions could control,
Or from the body disengage the soul:
Till this is done, our best pursuits are vain,
To conquer truth, and unmix'd knowledge gain:
Through all the bulky volumes of the dead, [bred,
And through those books that modern times have
With pain we travel, as through moorish ground,
Where scarce one useful plant is ever found;
O'er-run with errours, which so thick appear,
Our search proves vain, no spark of truth is there.
What's all the noisy jargon of the schools,
But idle nonsense of laborious fools,
Who fetter Reason with perplexing rules?
What in Aquina's bulky works are found,
Does not enlighten Reason, but confound:
Who travels Scotus' swelling tomes, shall find
A cloud of darkness rising on the mind;
In controverted points can Reason sway,
When passion, or conceit, still hurries us away!
Thus his new notions Sherlock would instil,
And clear the greatest mysteries at will;
But, by unlucky wit, perplex'd them more,
And made them darker than they were before.
South soon oppos'd him, out of Christian zeal;
Showing how well he could dispute and rail.
How shall we e'er discover which is right,
When both so eagerly maintain the fight?
Each does the other's arguments deride;
Each has the church and scripture on his side.
The sharp, ill-natur'd combat 's but a jest;
Both may be wrong; one, perhaps, errs the least.
How shall we know which articles are true,
The old ones of the church, or Burnet's new?
In paths uncertain and unsafe he treads,
Who blindly follows other fertile heads:
What sure, what certain mark have we to know,
The right or wrong, 'twixt Burgess, Wake, and Howe?
Should unturn'd Nature crave the medic art,
What health can that contentious tribe impart?
Every physician writes a different bill,
And gives no other reason but his will.
No longer boast your art, ye impious race;
Let wars 'twixt alkalies and acids cease;
And proud G-ll with Colbatch be at peace.

Gibbons and Radcliffe do but rarely guess;
To-day they 've good, to-morrow, no success.
Ev'n Garth and Maurus sometimes shall prevail,
When Gibson, learned Hannes, and Tyson, fail.
And, more than once, we've seen, that blundering
Sloane,

Missing the gout, by chance has hit the stone;
The patient does the lucky errour find:
A cure he works, though not the cure design'd.
Custom, the world's great idol, we adore;
And knowing this, we seek to know no more.
What education did at first receive,
Our ripen'd age confirms us to believe.
The careful nurse, and priest, are all we need,
To learn opinions, and our country's creed :
The parent's precepts early are instill'd,
And spoil the man, while they instruct the child.
To what hard fate is human kind betray'd,
When thus implicit faith, a virtue made;
When education more than truth prevails,
And nought is current but what custom seals?
Thus, from the time we first began to know,
We live and learn, but not the wiser grow.

We seldom use our liberty aright,

Nor judge of things by universal light:
Our prepossessions and affections bind

The soul in chains, and lord it o'er the mind;

And if self-interest be but in the case,

Our unexamin'd principles may pass !

Good Heavens! that man should thus himself de

ceive,

To learn on credit, and on trust believe!
Better the mind no notions had retain'd,
But still a fair, unwritten blank remain'd:
For now, who truth from falsehood would discern,
Must first disrobe the mind, and all unlearn.
Errours, contracted in unmindful youth,
When once remov'd, will smooth the way to trath:
To dispossess the child, the mortal lives;
But Death approaches ere the man arrives.

Those who would learning's glorious kingdom find,
The dear-bought purchase of the trading mind,
From many dangers must themselves acquit,
And more than Scylla and Charybdis meet.
Oh! what an ocean must be voyag'd o'er,
To gain a prospect of the shining shore!
Resisting rocks oppose th' inquiring soul,
And adverse waves retard it as they roll.

Does not that foolish deference we pay To men that liv'd long since, our passage stay? What odd, preposterous paths at first we tread, And learn to walk by stumbling on the dead! First we a blessing from the grave implore, Worship old urns, and monuments adore! The reverend sage, with vast esteem, we prize: He liv'd long since, and must be wondrous wise! Thus are we debtors to the famous dead, For all those errours which their fancies bred: Errours indeed! for real knowledge stay'd With those first times, not further was convey'd:. While light opinions are much lower brought, For on the waves of ignorance they float: But solid truth scarce ever gains the shore, So soon it sinks, and ne'er emerges more.

Suppose those many dreadful dangers past; Will knowledge dawn, and bless the mind, at last? Ah, no, 't is now environ'd from our eyes, Hides all its charms, and undiscover'd lies!

Sir Richard Blackmore.

Truth, like a single point, escapes the sight,
And claims attention to perceive it right!
But what resembles truth is soon desery'd,
Spreads like a surface, and expanded wide!
The first man rarely, very rarely finds
The tedious search of long inquiring minds:
But yet what's worse, we know not what we err;
What mark does truth, what bright distinction bear?
How do we know that what we know is true?
How shall we falsehood fly, and truth pursue?
Let none then here his certain knowledge boast;
"T is all but probability at most:
This is the easy purchase of the mind;

The vulgar's treasure, which we soon may find!
But truth lies hid, and ere we can explore
The glittering gem, our fleeting life is o'er.

DIES NOVISSIMA:

OR, THE

LAST EPIPHANY.

A PINDARIC ODE, ON CHRIST'S SECOND APPEARANCE, TO JUDGE THE WORLD.

ADIEU, ye toyish reeds, that once could please
My softer lips, and lull my cares to ease:
Begone; I'll waste no more vain hou.s with you:
And, smiling Sylvia too, adieu.

A brighter power invokes my Muse,
And loftier thoughts and raptures does infuse.
See, beckoning from yon cloud, he stands,
And promises assistance with his hands:
I feel the heavy-rolling God,
Incumbent, revel in his frail abode.

How my breast heaves, and pulses beat!
I sink, I sink, beneath the furious heat:
The weighty bliss o'erwhelms my breast,
And overflowing joys profusely waste.

Some nobler bard, O sacred Power, inspire, Or soul more large, th' elapses to receive: And, brighter yet, to catch the fire,

And each gay following charm from death to save!
-In vain the suit-the God inflames my breast;
I rave, with ecstasies opprest:

I rise, the mountains lessen, and retire;
And now I mix, unsing'd, with elemental fire!
The leading deity I have in view;

Nor mortal knows, as yet, what wonders will ensue.

We pass'd through regions of unsullied light;
I gaz'd, and sicken'd at the blissful sight;

A shuddering paleness seiz'd my look:

At last the pest flew off, and thus I spoke : "Say, Sacred Guide, shall this bright clime Survive the fatal test of time,

Or perish, with our mortal globe below,
When yon Sun no longer shines?"
Straight I finish'd-veiling low:

The visionary power rejoins:

"T is not for you to ask, nor mine to say,

The niceties of that tremendous day.

Know, when o'er-jaded Time his round has run,

And finish'd are the radiant journeys of the Sun, The great decisive morn shall rise,

Adulterate Christs already rise,

And dare t' assuage the angry skies;
Erratic throngs their Saviour's blood deny,
And from the cross, alas! he does neglected sigh;
The Anti-Christian Power has rais'd his Hydra head,
And ruin, only less than Jesus' health, does spread.
So long the gore through poison'd veins has flow'd,
That scarcely ranker is a fury's blood;
Yet specious artifice, and fair disguise,
The monster's shape, and curst design, belies:
A fiend's black venom, in an angel's mien,
He quaffs, and scatters, the contagious spleen:
Straight, when he finishes his lawless reign,

Nature shall paint the shining scene,
Quick as the lightning which inspires the train.

Forward Confusion shall provoke the fray,
And Nature from her ancient order stray;
Black tempests, gathering from the seas around,
In horrid ranges shall advance;

And, as they march, in thickest sables drown'd,
The rival thunder from the clouds shall sound,
And lightnings join the fearful dance:
The blustering armies o'er the skies shall spread,
And universal terrour shed;

Lond issuing peals, and rising sheets of smoke,

Th' encumber'd region of the air shall choke; The noisy main shall lash the suffering shore, And from the rocks the breaking billows roar! Black thunder bursts, blue lightning burns, And melting worlds to heaps of ashes turns! The forests shall beneath the tempest bend, And rugged winds the nodding cedars rend.

Reverse all Nature's web shall run,

And spotless Misrule all around, Order, its flying foe, confound;

Whilst backward all the threads shall haste to be.

unspun.

Triumphant Chaos, with bis oblique wand,

(The wand with which, ere time begun,

His wandering slaves he did command,

And made them scamper right, and in rude ranges run)

The hostile Harmony shall chase;

And as the nymph resigns her place,

And, panting, to the neighbouring refuge flies,
The formless ruffian slaughters with his eyes,
And, following, storms the perching dame's retreat,
Adding the terrour of his threat;

The globe shall faintly tremble round,
And backward jolt, distorted with the wound.

Swath'd in substantial shrowds of night,

Eternal grace and justice he 'll bestow

On all the trembling world below."

No frail eclipse, but all essential shade, Not yielding to primeval gloom,

Whilst Day was yet an embryo in the womb; Nor glimmering in its source, with silver streamers play'd,

A jetty mixture of the darkness spread
O'er murmuring Egypt's head;

And that which angels drew

O'er Nature's face, when Jesus died;
Which sleeping ghosts for this mistook,

And, rising, off their hanging funerals shook,

And fleeting pass'd expos'd their bloodless breast to view,

Yet find it not so dark, and to their dormitories glide.

The stars, next starting from their spheres,
In giddy revolutions leap and bound;

Whilst this with doubtful fury glares,

And meditate new wars,

And wheels in sportive gyres around,
Its neighbour shall advance to fight;
And while each offers to enlarge its right,
The general ruin shall increase,
And banish all the votaries of peace.
No more the stars, with paler beams,
Shall tremble o'er the midnight streams,
But travel downward to behold

What mimics them so twinkling there: ,And, like Narcissus, as they gain'd more near, For the lov'd image straight expire,

And agonize in warm desire,

Or slake their lust, as in the stream they roll.

Whilst the world burns, and all the orbs below
In their viperous ruins glow,

They sink, and unsupported leave the skies, Which fall abrupt, and tell their torment in the noise.

Then see th' Almighty Judge, sedate and bright, Cloth'd in imperial robes of light!

Louder he'll blow, and it shall speak more shrill, Than when, from Sinai's hill,

In thunder, through the horrid reddening smoke, Th' Almighty spoke;

We'll shout around with martial joy,

And thrice the vaulted skies shall rend, and thrice our shouts reply.

Then first th' Archangel's voice, aloud,
Shall cheerfully salute the day and throng,
And hallelujah fill the crowd;

And I, perhaps, shall close the song.

From its long sleep all human race shall rise, And see the morn and Judge advancing in the skies: To their old tenements the souls return, Whilst down the steep of Heaven as swift the Judge descends !

These look illustrious bright, no more to mourn: Whilst, see, distracted looks yon stalking shades attend.

The saints no more shall conflict on the deep,
Nor rugged waves insult the labouring ship;
But from the wreck in triumph they arise,
And borne to bliss shall tread empyreal skies.