Where will their fictious images remain?
In paper-schemes, and the Chaldean's brain.
"This problem yet, this offspring of a guess,
Let us for once a child of truth confess,
That these fair stars, these objects of delight
And terror to our searching dazzled sight,
Are worlds immense, unnumber'd, infinite.
But do these worlds display their beams, or guide
Their orbs, to serve thy use, to please thy pride?
Thyself but dust, thy stature but a span,
A moment thy duration, foolish man!
As well may the minutest emmet say,
That Caucasus was rais'd to pave his way;
The snail, that Lebanon's extended wood
Was destin'd only for his walk and food;
The vilest cockle, gaping on the coast
That rounds the ample seas, as well may boast,
The craggy rock projects above the sky,
That he in safety at its foot may lie;

And the whole ocean's confluent waters swell, [shell.
Only to quench his thirst, or move and blanch his
"A higher flight the venturous goddess tries,
Leaving material worlds and local skies;
Inquires what are the beings, where the space,
That form'd and held the angels' ancient race.
For rebel Lucifer with Michael fought,
(I offer only what tradition taught,)
Embattled cherub against cherub rose,
Did shield to shield, and power to power oppose;
Heaven rung with triumph, Hell was fill'd with

woes.

What were these forms of which your volumes tell,
How some fought great, and others recreant fell?
These bound to bear an everlasting load,
Durance of chain, and banishment of God;
By fatal turns their wretched strength to tire,
To swim in sulphurous lakes, or land on solid fire:
While those, exalted to primeval light,
Excess of blessing, and supreme delight,
Only perceive some little pause of joys

In those great moments when their God employs
Their ministry, to pour his threaten'd hate
On the proud king, or the rebellious state;
Or to reverse Jehovah's high command,
And speak the thunder falling from his hand,
When to his duty the proud king returns,
And the rebellious state in ashes mourns;
How can good angels be in Heaven confin'd,
Or view that presence, which no space can bind?
Is God above, beneath, or yon, or here?
He who made all, is he not everywhere?
Oh, how can wicked angels find a night
So dark, to hide them from that piercing light,
Which form'd the eye, and gave the power of sight?
"What mean I now of angel, when I hear
Firm body, spirit pure, or fluid air?
Spirits, to action spiritual confin'd,
Friends to our thought, and kindred to our mind,
Should only act and prompt us from within,
Nor by external eye be ever seen.
Was it not, therefore, to our fathers known,
That these had appetite, and limb, and bone?
Else how could Abraham wash their wearied feet?
Or Sarah please their taste with savory meat?
Whence should they fear? or why did Lot engage
To save their bodies from abusive rage?
And how.could Jacob, in a real fight,
Feel or resist the wrestling angel's might?
How could a form in strength with matter try?
Or how a spirit touch a mortal's thigh?

Now are they air condens'd, or gather'd rays? How guide they then our prayer, or keep our ways By stronger blasts still subject to be tost,

By tempests scatter'd, and in whirlwinds lost?
Have they again (as sacred song proclaims)
Substances real, and existing frames ?

How comes it, since with them we jointly share
The great effect of one Creator's care,
That, whilst our bodies sicken and decay,
Theirs are for ever healthy, young, and gay?
Why, whilst we struggle in this vale beneath
With want and sorrow, with disease and death,
Do they, more bless'd, perpetual life employ
On songs of pleasure, and in scenes of joy?

From smoking mineral, and from rising streams;
From fattening Nilus, or victorious Thames;
From all the living, that four-footed move
Along the shore, the meadow, or the grove;
From all that can with fins or feathers fly
Through the aërial or the watery sky;
From the poor reptile with a reasoning soul,
That miserable master of the whole;
From this great object of the body's eye,
This fair half-round, this ample azure sky,
Terribly large, and wonderfully bright,
With stars unnumber'd, and unmeasur'd light;
From essences unseen, celestial names,
Enlightening spirits, ministerial flames,
Angels, dominions, potentates, and thrones,
All that in each degree the name of creature owns
Lift we our reason to that sovereign Cause,
Who blest the whole with life, and bounded it with
laws;

Who forth from nothing call'd this comely frame,
His will and act, his word and work the same;
To whom a thousand years are but a day;
Who bade the Light her genial beams display,
And set the Moon, and taught the Sun its way;
Who, waking Time, his creature, from the source
Primeval, order'd his predestin'd course;
Himself, as in the hollow of his hand,
Holding, obedient to his high command,
The deep abyss, the long-continued store,
Where months, and days, and hours, and minutes

pour

Their floating parts, and thenceforth are no more:
This Alpha and Omega, first and last,
Who like the potter in a mould has cast
The world's great frame, commanding it to be
Such as the eyes of Sense and Reason see;
Yet, if he wills, may change or spoil the whole;
May take yon beauteous, mystic, starry roll,
And burn it like an useless parchment scroll;
May from its basis in one moment pour
This melted earth-

Like liquid metal, and like burning ore;
Who, sole in power, at the beginning said,
Let Sea, and Air, and Earth, and Heaven be made,
And it was so;-and, when he shall ordain
In other sort, has but to speak again,
And they shall be no more: of this great theme,
This glorious, hollow'd, everlasting name,
This GOD, I would discourse."-

The learned elders sat appall'd, amaz'd,
And each with mutual look on other gaz'd;

Nor speech they meditate, nor answer frame,
(Too plain, alas! their silence spake their shame)
Till one, in whom an outward mien appear'd,
And turn superior to the vulgar herd,
Began: That human learning's furthest reach
Was but to note the doctrine I could teach;
That mine to speak, and theirs was to obey;
For I in knowledge more than power did sway:
And the astonish'd world in me beheld
Moses eclips'd, and Jesse's son excell'd.
Humble a second bow'd, and took the word;
Foresaw my name by future age ador'd:
"O live," said he, "thou wisest of the wise;
As none has equall'd, none shall ever rise
Excelling thee."—

Parent of wicked, bane of honest deeds,
Pernicious Flattery! thy malignant seeds,
In an ill hour, and by a fatal hand,
Sadly diffus'd o'er Virtue's gleby land,
With rising pride amidst the corn appear,
And choke the hopes and harvest of the year.

And now the whole perplex'd ignoble crowd,
Mute to my questions, in my praises loud,
Echo'd the word: whence things arose, or how
They thus exist, the aptest nothing know:
What yet is not, but is ordain'd to be,
All veil of doubt apart, the dullest see!

My prophets and my sophists finish'd here
The civil efforts of the verbal war:
Not so my rabbins and logicians yield;
Retiring, still they combat; from the field
Of open arms unwilling they depart,
And skulk behind the subterfuge of art.
To speak one thing, mix'd dialects they join,
Divide the simple, and the plain define:
Fix fancied laws, and form imagin'd rules,
Terms of their art, and jargon of their schools,
Ill-grounded maxims, by false gloss enlarg'd,
And captious science against reason charg'd.

Soon their crude notions with each other fought;
The adverse sect denied what this had taught;
And he at length the amplest triumph gain'd,
Who contradicted what the last maintain'd.

O wretched impotence of human mind! We, erring still, excuse for error find, And darkling grope, not knowing we are blind. Vain man! since first thy blushing sire essay'd His folly with connected leaves to shade, How does the crime of thy resembling race With like attempt that pristine error trace! Too plain thy nakedness of soul espied, Why dost thou strive the conscious shame to hide By masks of eloquence and veils of pride?

With outward smiles their flattery I receiv'd, Own'd my sick mind by their discourse reliev'd; But bent, and inward to myself, again Perplex'd, these matters I revolv'd in vain. My search still tir'd, my labor still renew'd, At length I ignorance and knowledge view'd,

Impartial; both in equal balance laid,

[weigh'd.

The little which imperfectly we find,
Seduces only the bewilder'd mind
To fruitless search of something yet behind.
Various discussions tear our heated brain;
Opinions often turn; still doubts remain;
And who indulges thought, increases pain.
How narrow limits were to Wisdom given !
Earth she surveys; she thence would measure
Heaven:

Through mists obscure now wings her tedious way;
Now wanders dazzled with too bright a day;
And from the summit of a pathless coast
Sees infinite, and in that sight is lost.

Remember, that the curs'd desire to know,
Offspring of Adam! was thy source of woe.
Why wilt thou then renew the vain pursuit,
And rashly catch at the forbidden fruit;
With empty labor and eluded strife,
Seeking, by knowledge, to attain to life;
For ever from that fatal tree debarr'd,
Which flaming swords and angry cherubs guard?

Book II-PLEASURE.

Texts chiefly alluded to in Book II.

"I said in my own heart, Go to now, I will prove thee with mirth; therefore enjoy pleasure."— ECCLES. chap. ii. ver. i.

"I made me great works, I builded me houses, I 'planted me vineyards."-Ver. 4.

"I made me gardens and orchards; and I planted trees in them of all kind of fruits."-Ver. 5.

"I made me pools of water, to water therewith the wood that bringeth forth trees."—Ver. 6.

"Then I looked on all the works that my hands had wrought, and on the labor that I had labored to do and behold all was vanity and vexation of spirit; and there was no profit under the Sun."Ver. 11.

"I gat me men-singers and women-singers, and the delights of the sons of men, as musical instruments, and that of all sorts."-Ver. 8.

"I sought in mine heart to give myself unto wine, (yet acquainting mine heart with wisdom) and to lay hold on folly, till I might see what was that good for the sons of men, which they should do under Heaven all the days of their life."-Ver. 3. "Then I said in my heart, As it happeneth unto the fool, so it happeneth even unto me; and why was I then more wise? Then I said in my heart, that this also is vanity."-Ver. 15.

"Therefore I hated life, because the work that is wrought under the Sun is grievous unto me."

Ver. 17.

'Dead flies cause the ointment to send forth a stinking savor: so doth a little folly him that is in reputation for wisdom and honor."-Ch. x. ver. 1.

Forc'd by reflective reason, I confess,

That human science is uncertain guess.
Alas! we grasp at clouds, and beat the air,
Vexing that spirit we intend to clear.

Can thought beyond the bounds of matter climb?
Or who shall tell me what is space or time?

In vain we lift up our presumptuous eyes
To what our Maker to their ken denies :
The searcher follows fast; the object faster flies.

of the wicked shall rot."-PROVERBS, ch. x. ver. 7.

THE ARGUMENT.

Solomon, again seeking happiness, inquires if wealth and greatness can produce it; begins with the magnificence of gardens and buildings, the luxury of music and feasting; and proceeds to the hopes

maze.

TRY then, O man, the moments 'to deceive,
That from the womb attend thee to the grave:
For wearied Nature find some apter scheme:
Health be thy hope, and Pleasure be thy theme.'
From the perplexing and unequal ways,
Where study brings thee; from the endless maze,
Which doubt persuades to run, forewarn'd, recede
To the gay field and flowery path, that lead
To jocund mirth, soft joy, and careless ease:
Forsake what may instruct, for what may please;
Essay amusing art, and proud expense,
And make thy reason subject to thy sense.

I commun'd thus: the power of wealth I tried,
And all the various luxe of costly pride;
Artists and plans reliev'd my solemn hours;
I founded palaces, and planted bowers;
Birds, fishes, beasts, of each exotic kind,
I to the limits of my court confin'd;

To trees transferr'd I gave a second birth,
And bade a foreign shade grace Judah's earth;
Fish-ponds were made, where former forests grew,
And hills were levell'd to extend the view;
Rivers diverted from their native course,
And bound with chains of artificial force,
From large cascades in pleasing tumult roll'd,

Or rose through figur'd stone, or breathing gold;
From furthest Africa's tormented womb

The marble brought, erects the spacious dome,
Or forms the pillars' long-extended rows,

Yet take thy bent, my soul; another sense Indulge; add music to magnificence: Essay if harmony may grief control, Or power of sound prevail upon the soul. Often our seers and poets have confest, That music's force can tame the furious beast: Can make the wolf, or foaming boar, restrain His rage; the lion drop his crested mane, Attentive to the song; the lynx forget His wrath to man, and lick the minstrel's feet. Are we, alas! less savage yet than these? Else music, sure, may human cares appease.

I spake my purpose; and the cheerful choir Parted their shares of harmony: the lyre Soften'd the timbrel's noise; the trumpet's sound Provok'd the Dorian flute (both sweeter found When mix'd); the fife the viol's notes refin'd, And every strength with every grace was join'd. Each morn they wak'd me with a sprightly lay; Of opening Heaven they sung and gladsome day. Each evening their repeated skill express'd Scenes of repose, and images of rest: Yet still in vain; for music gather'd thought: But how unequal the effects it brought! The soft ideas of the cheerful note, Lightly receiv'd, were easily forgot; The solemn violence of the graver sound Knew to strike deep, and leave a lasting wound. And now reflecting, I with grief descry

The sickly lust of the fantastic eye;

How the weak organ is with seeing cloy'd,
Flying ere night what it at noon enjoy'd.
And now (unhappy search of thought!) I found

grows.

The workmen here obey the master's call, To gild the turret, and to paint the wall, To mark the pavement there with various stone, And on the jasper steps to rear the throne: The spreading cedar, that an age had stood, Supreme of trees, and mistress of the wood, Cut down and carv'd, my shining roof adorns, And Lebanon his ruin'd honor mourns.

A thousand artists show their cunning power, To raise the wonders of the ivory tower. A thousand maidens ply the purple loom, To weave the bed, and deck the regal room; Till Tyre confesses her exhausted store, That on her coast the murex* is no more; Till from the Parian isle, and Libya's coast, The mountains grieve their hopes of marble lost; And India's woods return their just complaint, Their brood decay'd, and want of elephant. My full design with vast expense achiev'd, I came, beheld, admir'd, reflected, griev'd; I chid the folly of my thoughtless haste, For, the work perfected, the joy was past.

To my new courts sad Thought did still repair, And round my gilded roofs hung hovering Care. In vain on silken beds I sought repose, And restless oft from purple couches rose; Vexatious Thought still found my flying mind Nor bound by limits, nor to place confin'd;

*The murex is a shell-fish, of the liquor whereof a purple color is made.

Condemn'd eternal changes to pursue,
Tir'd with the last, and eager of the new.

I bade the virgins and the youth advance,
To temper music with the sprightly dance.
In vain! too low the mimic motions seem;
What takes our heart must merit our esteem.
Nature, I thought, perform'd too mean a part,
Forming her movements to the rules of art;
And, vex'd, I found that the musician's hand
Had o'er the dancer's mind too great command.
I drank; I lik'd it not; 'twas rage, twas noise,
An airy scene of transitory joys

In vain I trusted that the flowing bowl
Would banish sorrow, and enlarge the soul.
To the late revel, and protracted feast,
Wild dreams succeeded, and disorder'd rest;
And as, at dawn of morn, fair Reason's light
Broke through the fumes and phantoms of the night,
What had been said, I ask'd my soul, what done?
How flow'd our mirth, and whence the source begun?
Perhaps the jest that charm'd the sprightly crowd,
And made the jovial table laugh so loud,
To some false notion ow'd its poor pretence,
To an ambiguous word's perverted sense,
To a wild sonnet, or a wanton air,
Offence and torture to the sober ear:
Perhaps, alas! the pleasing stream was brought
From this man's error, from another's fault; .
From topics, which good-nature would forget,
And prudence mention with the last regret.
Add yet unnumber'd ills, that lie unseen
In the pernicious draught; the word obscene

For I am destin'd to another's love.

Beyond the cruel bounds of thy command,
To my dear equal in my native land,

My plighted vow I gave; I his receiv'd:

Each swore with truth, with pleasure each believ'd.
The mutual contract was to Heaven convey'd ;
In equal scales the busy angels weigh'd

"Now in my heart behold thy poniard stain'd; Take the sad life which I have long disdain'd; End, in a dying virgin's wretched fate, Thy ill-starr'd passion and my stedfast hate: For, long as blood informs these circling veins, Or fleeting breath its latest power retains, Hear me to Egypt's vengeful Gods declare, Hate is my part, be thine, O king, despair.

My soul thus struggling in the fatal net,
Unable to enjoy, or to forget;

I reason'd much, alas! but more I lov'd:
Sent and recall'd, ordain'd and disapprov'd;
Till, hopeless, plung'd in an abyss of grief,
I from necessity receiv'd relief:

Time gently aided to assuage my pain,

And Wisdom took once more the slacken'd rein.

But O, how short my interval of woe!

breast;

"Stand it in Judah's chronicles confest,

That David's son, by impious passion mov'd,
Smote a she-slave, and murder'd what he lov'd!"
Asham'd, confus'd, I started from the bed,
And to my soul, yet uncollected, said,
"Into thyself, fond Solomon, return;
Reflect again, and thou again shalt mourn.
When I through number'd years have Pleasure
sought,

And in vain hope the wanton phantom caught;
To mock my sense, and mortify my pride,
"Tis in another's power, and is denied.
Am I a king, great Heaven! does life or death
Hang on the wrath or mercy of my breath;
While kneeling I my servant's smiles implore,
And one mad damsel dares dispute my power?
To ravish her! that thought was soon depress'd,
Which must debase the monarch to the beast.
To send her back! O whither, and to whom?
To lands where Solomon must never come?
To that insulting rival's happy arms,
For whom, disdaining me, she keeps her charms?
"Fantastic tyrant of the amorous heart,
How hard thy yoke! how cruel is thy dart!
Those 'scape thy anger, who refuse thy sway,
And those are punish'd most who most obey.
See Judah's king revere thy greater power:
What canst thou covet, or how triumph more?
Why then, O Love, with an obdurate ear,
Does this proud nymph reject a monarch's prayer?
Why to some simple shepherd does she run
From the fond arms of David's favorite son?
Why flies she from the glories of a court,
Where wealth and pleasure may thy reign support,
To some poor cottage on the mountain's brow,
Now bleak with winds, and cover'd now with snow,
Where pinching want must curb her warm desires,
And household cares suppress thy genial fires?

"Too aptly the afflicted Heathens prove
Thy force, while they erect the shrines of Love.
His mystic form the artisans of Greece
In wounded stone, or molten gold, express;
And Cyprus to his godhead pays her vow,
Fast in his hand the idol holds his bow;
A quiver by his side sustains his store
Of pointed darts; sad emblems of his power:
A pair of wings he has, which he extends
Now to be gone! which now again he bends,
Prone to return, as best may serve his wanton ends.

Another nymph, (for so did Heaven ordain,
To change the manner, but renew the pain,)
Another nymph, amongst the many fair,
That made my softer hours their solemn care,
Before the rest affected still to stand,
And watch'd my eye, preventing my command.
Abra, she so was call'd, did soonest haste
To grace my presence; Abra went the last;
Abra was ready ere I call'd her name;
And, though I call'd another, Abra came.

Her equals first observ'd her growing zeal, And, laughing, gloss'd, that Abra serv'd so well. To me her actions did unheeded die,

Or were remark'd but with a common eye;
Till more appriz'd of what the rumor said,
More I observ'd peculiar in the maid.

The Sun declined had shot his western ray,
When, tir'd with business of the solemn day,
I purpos'd to unbend the evening hours,
And banquet private in the women's bowers.
I call'd, before I sat, to wash my hands
(For so the precept of the law commands):
Love had ordain'd, that it was Abra's turn
To mix the sweets, and minister the urn.

With awful homage and submissive dread,
The maid approach'd, on my declining head
To pour the oils; she trembled as she pour'd:
With an unguarded look she now devour'd
My nearer face! and now recall'd her eye,
And heav'd, and strove to hide, a sudden sigh.
And whence," said I, "canst thou have dread
or pain?

What can thy imagery of sorrow mean?
Secluded from the world and all its care,
Hast thou to grieve or joy, to hope or fear?
For sure," I added, "sure thy little heart
Ne'er felt Love's anger, nor receiv'd his dart."

Abash'd, she blush'd, and with disorder spoke Her rising shame adorn'd the words it broke

"If the great master will descend to hear The humble series of his handmaid's care; O! while she tells it, let him not put on The look, that awes the nations from the throne! O! let not death severe in glory lie In the king's frown, and terror of his eye! "Mine to obey, thy part is to ordain; And though to mention be to suffer pain, If the king smile whilst I my woe recite, If, weeping, I find favor in his sight, Flow fast, my tears, full rising his delight.