Ah! poor dependant on the hope forlorn!
Thou self-forc'd pensioner on fickle chance!
Thy sanguine soul indeed awhile may wait,
And wait till e'en persisting patience tire,
Or 'ere she listen to thy urgent claim;
The careless world may make thee no return,
Nor in the course of many a bitter day
Attempt to close the bleeding artery up;
Nor from thy breast with many a shaft empierc'd,
There rankling sore, and eating into life,
One unpluck'd barb with tender caution draw.
Sad, sad incentive to the deed accurs'd!
And swift the lamentable close comes on!
Riv'd his poor breaking heart with cureless pangs,
And split at length his uncontending brain,
He on some lofty turret takes his stand,
Paces its lonely scite with troubled step,
Or on the margin of some sluggish stream,
Thy moping hour of Eve unsocial treads,
But by Reflection's side,-companion sad!
As ever tended the close walk of man,
And prob'd the anguish of his shrinking soul:
But yet a follower hardly to be shunn'd,
A questioner we seldom can evade,
His interrogatories close, once put,
Shuffling and false replies avail us not-
Plain dealing then, till then if ne'er observ'd,
This scrutinizing judge most sure exacts :
Here 'tis, self-murder first his mind assails,
Here 'tis he meditates the coward act,
And here he first completes the sum of sin!
Flying from suff'rings bounded by a span,
To risque Eternity's uncertain doom;
And 'tis from hence, and on the blank return
Of every beating thought, long since sent out
Each untried crack and cranny to explore,
Where chance the truant Peace, may yet be found,
And once discover'd, coax'd at length to come,
Back to the bosom, widow'd by her flight;
That first he sees- -(ah! who can guess how drear,
Rises the ravag'd prospect to his view,
His vision lustreless)-and sees, alas!
The setting sun descend with every hope!
That setting sun, which well assur'd he feels
Shall rise no more to warm his joyless heart,
Or bosoms half so cold-tho' rise it must
To cheer and comfort many a child of care-
Abandon'd, all-deserted state !—and yet,
'Tis hard, most hard, to quit the hold contemn'd,
E'en of accurs'd existence-on his rais'd toe,
He keeps his strain'd eye on the horizon long,
And marks the sinking God's unsteady light,
Fluttering in rapture o'er his Thetis' lap,
As loth to lose the momentary grasp
Of his thin, wasting, short'ning, golden rim;
Nay past his orb, the still pursuing gaze,
Mistakes awhile the broad beam for its source;
That gone-he sinks-his desolated heart
Like a lead plummet, starting from its stay,
In one short moment finds its deepest depth!—
He strikes his breast, and with one wretched smile,
That wrangling comfort coupled with despair,
Giver of painful joy, that ne'er returns,
In the fix'd purpose of his soul exclaims,
'That's the last Sun I see'-Prediction sure!
The storms of life have beat a perfect wreck,
And his poor shatter'd senses must go down!—
The clicking Instrument that measures time,
May oft be subject to some trifling check,
Some sudden impulse, which the skilful hand
Of him who wears it, by the ready aid
Of powerful regulator, may correct;
But strain'd the main chain past its bearing point,
Some link gives way, and in confusion quick,
The lawless wheels in wild disorder fly,
And settle into silence-unprovok❜d,
By any hand but his who first cou'd form.-
So 'tis with MAN. For if the erring thought
Derange the frame and movements of his mind,
And his distemper'd pulse unsteady beat,
The regulator reason, rightly turn'd,
Gives to th' enfeebled frame its former tone;
But snapt the master spring of life's machine,
The organized functions strait run out,
And man is then as tho' he ne'er had been.
In such a chaos, and in such a state,
The stream receives him from the sedgy bank
Where just before he hesitating stood;
Or else in after-thought,-oh, thought most lost!
That pausing o'er the damned deed, persists;
Sharp steel or drug, strong handkerchief or cord,
Nay, e'en the well-worn garter's sleazy nooze,
Determines soon, a life of cureless woe-
Cureless alone in Desperation's eye;
That fiend, by cowardice at first begot,
By weak indulgence rear'd into controul,
Which left undandled of itself wou'd die.-
Unexpiable act! if any act
Beyond divine pursuing grace can stretch-
Dastard! to guide thyself death's random dart,
And give up every hold on changing life,
Which tho' for many a year pass'd by in shade,
Might at some moment on thy trusting hope
Her bright'ning eye and silver lining turn.
Murderer most foul! to stop pulsation's spring,
Which once destroy'd thou never canst restore.
No! life let out-The hov'ring spirit must,
Howe'er repentant of its rash escape,
If anxious to reanimate its clod,
With all its eloquence implore in vain :
Mean, wretched rebel to thy Maker's will,
"Whose ear's not deafen'd that he cannot hear,
Whose arm's not shorten'd that he cannot save,'
Nor yet so lifted that he may not spare,
Tho' slow repentance seek not the reprieve!
And at whose nod we only shou'd retire-
All suns that set in tears may rise in smiles,
Hearts that despond to-day the next may dance,
Mortal, look round!-exult recover'd Faith;
From all thou see'st confirm the truths I sing!-
Vain were the task to trace each poison'd spring, Each stagnate pool, where Disappointment-shut And debarr'd, from bev'rage healthy, sweet, Essays to slake the fever of her tongue; And vain alike to name each blighted plant, Each sapless root on which perforce she feeds, And most unprofitably strives to draw, Restoring nurture to her wasting frame, When once it pines beneath confirm'd disease. Ah! where's the remedy for rooted pain, The grand specific for o'erbearing woe, The lulling opiate for distraction's brain, Or sov'reign styptic for a bleeding heart! And where's the state from human ills secure, The heart retir'd, with comforts so encas'd, No full-wing'd shaft can penetrate or reach? Misfortune still attends the prosp❜rous hour, Watches with with'ring eye, the fav'ring change, To claim acquaintance with our dearest joys, O'erturn their sway and take the wrested rule; And where Security in open state,
Fondly indulges unsuspecting ease,
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