Here are the prude severe, and gay coquet, Here garrulous old age winds up his tale; And jovial youth, of lightsome vacant heart, Whose ev'ry day was made of melody, Hears not the voice of mirth. The shrill-tongu'd shrew, Meek as the turtle-dove forgets her chiding. Poor man! how happy once in thy first state! When yet but warm from thy great Maker's hand, He stamp'd thee with his image, and, well pleas'd, Smil'd on his last fair work. Then all was well. Sound was the body, and the soul serene; Like two sweet instruments, ne'er out of tune, That play'd their several parts. Nor head, nor heart, Offer'd to ache: nor was there cause they should, For all was pure within, no fell remorse, Just ready to expire, Scarce importun'd, Oh! slippery state of things! What sudden turns! What strange vicissitudes in the first leaf Of man's sad history! To-day most happy, And ere to-morrow's sun has set, most abject. How scant the space between these vast extremes ! Thus far'd it with our sire: Not long enjoy'd His paradise. Scarce had the happy tenant Of the fair spot due time to prove its sweets, Or sum them up, when strait he must be gone, Ne'er to return again. And must he go? Can nought compound for the first dire offence Of erring man? Like one that is condemn'd, Fain would he trifle time with idle talk, And parley with his fate. But 'tis in vain Not all the lavish odours of the place Like those of angels, short and far between: Grew loud and mutinous, nor would be gone; But to his future sons, his fortune's heirs. What havock hast thou made, foul monster, sin! Greatest and first of ills. The fruitful parent Of woes of all dimensions! But for thee Are kindly circumscrib'd, and have their bounds. Buries whole tracks of country, threat'ning more; More dreadful far than these! Sin has laid waste, Whilst deep-mouth'd slaughter, bellowing at her heels, Wades deep in blood new spilt; yet for to-morrow Shapes out new work of great uncommon daring, And inly pines till the dread blow is struck. Buthold:-I've gone too far; too much discover'd My father's nakedness, and nature's shame. Here let me pause, and drop an honest tear, One burst of filial duty and condolence, O'er all those ample deserts Death has spread; This chaos of mankind. O great man-eater! Whose ev'ry day is carnival, not sated yet! Unheard-of epicure! without a fellow! The veriest gluttons do not always cram; Some intervals of abstinence are sought To edge the appetite: thou seekest none. Methinks the countless swarms thou hast devour'd, And thousands that each hour thou gobblest up, This, less than this, might gorge thee to the full; But, ah! rapacious still, thou gap'st for more: Like one, whole days defrauded of his meals, On whom lank hunger lays her skinny hand, And whets to keenest eagerness his cravings; As if diseases, massacres and poison, Famine, and war, were not thy caterers. But know, that thou must render up thy dead, And with high int'rest too. They are not thine; |