The dawn is overcast, the morning lowers, And heavily in clouds brings on the day, The great, the important day, big with the fate Of Cato and of Rome.
It must be so,Plato, thou reasonest well! Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality? Or whence this secret dread and inward horror Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction? T is the divinity that stirs within us; T is Heaven itself that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man. Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!
I m weary of conjectures,this must end em. Thus am I doubly armed: my death and life, My bane and antidote, are both before me: This in a moment brings me to an end; But this informs me I shall never die. The soul, secured in her existence, smiles At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years; But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,2 Unhurt amidst the war of elements, The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds.
For wheresoeer I turn my ravishd eyes, Gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise, Poetic fields encompass me around, And still I seem to tread on classic ground.3
Unbounded courage and compassion joind, Tempering each other in the victors mind, Alternately proclaim him good and great, And make the hero and the man complete.
Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly to the listening earth Repeats the story of her birth; While all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole.
Should the whole frame of Nature round him break, In ruin and confusion hurled, He, unconcerned, would hear the mighty crack, And stand secure amidst a falling world.
In all thy humours, whether grave or mellow, Thou rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow, Hast so much wit and mirth and spleen about thee, There is no living with thee, nor without thee.6
Note 1. Give me, kind Heaven, a private station, A mind serene for contemplation! Title and profit I resign; The pot of honour shall be mine. John Gay: Fables, Part ii. The Vulture, the Sparrow, and other Birds. [back]
Note 2. Smiling always with a never fading serenity of countenance, and flourishing in an immortal youth.Isaac Barrow (16301677): Duty of Thanksgiving, Works, vol. i. p. 66. [back]
Note 3. Malone states that this was the first time the phrase classic ground, since so common, was ever used. [back]
Note 4. This line is frequently ascribed to Pope, as it is found in the Dunciad, book iii. line 264. [back]
Note 5. He best can paint them who shall feel them most.Alexander Pope: Eloisa to Abelard, last line. [back]
Note 6. A translation of Martial, xii. 47, who imitated Ovid, Amores iii. 11, 39. [back]
Note 7. Much may be said on both sides.Henry Fielding: The Covent Garden Tragedy, act i. sc. 8. [back]