[ The Complaint : or , Night-Thoughts on Life , Death & Immortality . ] Night I . On life , death , and immortality . Humbly inscribed to the right honourable Arthur Onslow , Esq. , Speaker of the House of Commons . Tired Nature's sweet restorer , balmy Sleep ! He , like the world , his ready visit pays Where Fortune smiles ; the wretched he forsakes ; Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe , And lights on lids unsullied with a tear . From short ( as usual ) and disturb'd repose I wake : how happy they who wake no more ! Yet that were vain , if dreams infest the grave . I wake , emerging from a sea of dreams Tumultuous ; where my wreck'd desponding thought , From wave to wave of fancied misery , At random drove , her helm of reason lost : Though now restored , 't is only change of pain , ( A bitter change ! ) severer for severe . The Day too short for my distress ; and Night , E'en in the zenith of her dark domain , Is sunshine to the colour of my fate . Night , sable goddess ! from her ebon throne , In rayless majesty , now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world . Silence , how dead ! and darkness , how profound ! Nor eye , nor listening ear , an object finds ; Creation sleeps . 'T is as the general pulse Of life stood still , and Nature made a pause ; An awful pause ! prophetic of her end . And let her prophecy be soon fulfill'd : Fate ! drop the curtain ; I can lose no more . Silence and Darkness ! solemn sisters ! twins From ancient Night , who nurse the tender thought To reason , and on reason build resolve , ( That column of true majesty in man , ) Assist me : I will thank you in the grave ; The grave your kingdom : there this frame shall fall A victim sacred to your dreary shrine . But what are ye ? — Thou , who didst put to flight Primeval Silence , when the morning stars , Exulting , shouted o'er the rising ball ; — O Thou , whose Word from solid darkness struck That spark , the sun ! strike wisdom from my soul ; My soul , which flies to Thee , her trust , her treasure , As misers to their gold , while others rest . Through this opaque of Nature and of soul , This double night , transmit one pitying ray , To lighten and to cheer . O lead my mind , ( A mind that fain would wander from its woe , ) Lead it through various scenes of life and death ; And from each scene the noblest truths inspire . Nor less inspire my conduct than my song : Teach my best reason , reason ; my best will Teach rectitude ; and fix my firm resolve Wisdom to wed , and pay her long arrear : Nor let the phial of thy vengeance , pour'd On this devoted head , be pour'd in vain . The bell strikes one . We take no note of time But from its loss . To give it then a tongue Is wise in man . As if an angel spoke , I feel the solemn sound . If heard aright , It is the knell of my departed hours . Where are they ? With the years beyond the flood . It is the signal that demands despatch : How much is to be done ! My hopes and fears Start up alarm'd , and o'er life's narrow verge Look down — on what ? A fathomless abyss , A dread eternity ! how surely mine ! And can eternity belong to me , Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour ? How poor , how rich , how abject , how august , How complicate , how wonderful is man ! How passing wonder He who made him such ! Who centred in our make such strange extremes ! From different natures marvellously mix'd , Connexion exquisite of distant worlds ! Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain ! Midway from nothing to the Deity ! A beam ethereal , sullied and absorb'd ! Though sullied and dishonour'd , still divine ! Dim miniature of greatness absolute ! An heir of glory ! a frail child of dust ! Helpless immortal ! insect infinite ! A worm ! a god ! — I tremble at myself , And in myself am lost ! At home a stranger , Thought wanders up and down , surprised , aghast , And wondering at her own . How reason reels ! O what a miracle to man is man , Triumphantly distress'd ! what joy ! what dread ! Alternately transported and alarm'd ! What can preserve my life ? or what destroy ? An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave ; Legions of angels can't confine me there . 'Tis past conjecture ; all things rise in proof : While o'er my limbs Sleep's soft dominion spread , What though my soul fantastic measures trod O'er fairy fields ; or mourn'd along the gloom Of pathless woods ; or , down the craggy steep Hurl'd headlong , swam with pain the mantled pool ; Or scaled the cliff ; or danced on hollow winds , With antic shapes , wild natives of the brain ? Her ceaseless flight , though devious , speaks her nature Of subtler essence than the trodden clod ; Active , aërial , towering , unconfined , Unfetter'd with her gross companion's fall . E'en silent Night proclaims my soul immortal : E'en silent Night proclaims eternal day . For human weal , Heaven husbands all events ; Dull sleep instructs , nor sport vain dreams in vain . Why then their loss deplore that are not lost ? Why wanders wretched thought their tombs around In infidel distress ? Are angels there ? Slumbers , raked up in dust , ethereal fire ? They live ! they greatly live a life on earth Unkindled , unconceived ; and from an eye Of tenderness let heavenly pity fall On me , more justly number'd with the dead . This is the desert , this the solitude : How populous , how vital is the grave ! This is creation's melancholy vault , The vale funereal , the sad cypress-gloom ; The land of apparitions , empty shades ! All , all on earth is shadow , all beyond Is substance ; the reverse is Folly's creed : How solid all , where change shall be no more ! This is the bud of being , the dim dawn , The twilight of our day , the vestibule : Life's theatre as yet is shut , and Death , Strong Death , alone can heave the massy bar , This gross impediment of clay remove , And make us embryos of existence free . From real life but little more remote Is he , not yet a candidate for light , The future embryo , slumb'ring in his sire . Embryos we must be till we burst the shell , Yon ambient azure shell , and spring to life , The life of gods ( O transport ! ) and of man . Yet man ( fool man ! ) here buries all his thoughts ; Inters celestial hopes without one sigh ; Prisoner of earth , and pent beneath the moon , Here pinions all his wishes ; wing'd by Heaven To fly at infinite ; and reach it there Where seraphs gather immortality , On life's fair tree , fast by the throne of God . What golden joys ambrosial clustering glow In His full beam , and ripen for the just , Where momentary ages are no more ! Where Time , and Pain , and Chance , and Death expire ! And is it in the flight of threescore years To push eternity from human thought , And smother souls immortal in the dust ? A soul immortal , spending all her fires , Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness , Thrown into tumult , raptured , or alarm'd , At aught this scene can threaten , or indulge , Resembles ocean into tempest wrought , To waft a feather , or to drown a fly . Where falls this censure ? It o'erwhelms myself . How was my heart incrusted by the world ! O how self-fetter'd was my grovelling soul ! How , like a worm , was I wrapt round and round In silken thought , which reptile Fancy spun , Till darken'd Reason lay quite clouded o'er With soft conceit of endless comfort here , Nor yet put forth her wings to reach the skies ! Night visions may befriend ( as sung above ) : Our waking dreams are fatal . How I dreamt Of things impossible ! ( could sleep do more ? ) Of joys perpetual in perpetual change ! Of stable pleasures on the tossing wave ! Eternal sunshine in the storms of life ! How richly were my noon-tide trances hung With gorgeous tapestries of pictured joys ! Joy behind joy , in endless perspective ! Till at Death's toll , whose restless iron tongue Calls daily for his millions at a meal , Starting I woke , and found myself undone . Where now my frenzy's pompous furniture ? The cobwebb'd cottage , with its ragged wall Of mouldering mud , is royalty to me ! The spider's most attenuated thread Is cord , is cable , to man's tender tie On earthly bliss ; it breaks at every breeze . O ye blest scenes of permanent delight ! Full above measure ! lasting beyond bound ! A perpetuity of bliss is bliss . Could you , so rich in rapture , fear an end , That ghastly thought would drink up all your joy , And quite unparadise the realms of light . Safe are you lodged above these rolling spheres ; The baleful influence of whose giddy dance Sheds sad vicissitude on all beneath . Here teems with revolutions every hour , And rarely for the better ; or the best More mortal than the common births of fate . Each Moment has its sickle , emulous Of Time's enormous scythe , whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root ; each Moment plays His little weapon in the narrower sphere Of sweet domestic comfort , and cuts down The fairest bloom of sublunary bliss . Bliss ! sublunary bliss ! — proud words , and vain ! Implicit treason to Divine decree ! A bold invasion of the rights of Heaven ! I clasp'd the phantoms , and I found them air . O had I weigh'd it ere my fond embrace , What darts of agony had miss'd my heart ! Death ! great proprietor of all ! 't is thine To tread out empire , and to quench the stars . The sun himself by thy permission shines ; And , one day , thou shalt pluck him from his sphere . Amid such mighty plunder , why exhaust Thy partial quiver on a mark so mean ? Why thy peculiar rancour wreak'd on me ? Insatiate archer ! could not one suffice ? Thy shaft flew thrice ; and thrice my peace was slain ; And thrice , ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her horn . O Cynthia ! why so pale ? dost thou lament Thy wretched neighbour ? grieve to see thy wheel Of ceaseless change outwhirl'd in human life ? How wanes my borrow'd bliss ! from Fortune's smile , Precarious courtesy ! not Virtue's sure , Self-given , solar ray of sound delight . In every varied posture , place , and hour , How widow'd every thought of every joy ! Thought , busy thought ! too busy for my peace ! Through the dark postern of time long elapsed , Led softly by the stillness of the night , Led like a murderer , ( and such it proves ! ) Strays ( wretched rover ! ) o'er the pleasing past ; In quest of wretchedness perversely strays ; And finds all desert now ; and meets the ghosts Of my departed joys ; a numerous train ! I rue the riches of my former fate ; Sweet comfort's blasted clusters I lament ; I tremble at the blessings once so dear ; And every pleasure pains me to the heart . Yet why complain ? or why complain for one ? Hangs out the sun his lustre but for me , The single man ? Are angels all beside ? I mourn for millions : 't is the common lot ; In this shape , or in that , has Fate entail'd The mother's throes on all of woman born , Not more the children , than sure heirs , of Pain . War , Famine , Pest , Volcano , Storm , and Fire , Intestine Broils , Oppression with her heart Wrapt up in triple brass , besiege mankind . God's image , disinherited of day , Here , plunged in mines , forgets a sun was made . There , beings , deathless as their haughty lord , Are hammer'd to the galling oar for life ; And plough the winter's wave , and reap despair . Some , for hard masters , broken under arms , In battle lopp'd away , with half their limbs , Beg bitter bread through realms their valour saved , If so the tyrant , or his minion , doom . Want , and incurable Disease , ( fell pair ! ) On hopeless multitudes remorseless seize At once , and make a refuge of the grave . How groaning hospitals eject their dead ! What numbers groan for sad admission there ! What numbers , once in Fortune's lap high-fed , Solicit the cold hand of Charity ! To shock us more , — solicit it in vain ! Ye silken sons of Pleasure ! since in pains You rue more modish visits , visit here , And breathe from your debauch : give , and reduce Surfeit's dominion o'er you : but so great Your impudence , you blush at what is right . Happy , did sorrow seize on such alone ! Not Prudence can defend , or Virtue save ; Disease invades the chastest temperance ; And punishment the guiltless ; and alarm , Through thickest shades , pursues the fond of peace . Man's caution often into danger turns , And his guard , falling , crushes him to death . Not Happiness itself makes good her name ; Our very wishes give us not our wish . How distant oft the thing we dote on most From that for which we dote , felicity ! The smoothest course of nature has its pains ; And truest friends , through error , wound our rest . Without misfortune , what calamities ! And what hostilities , without a foe ! Nor are foes wanting to the best on earth . But endless is the list of human ills , And sighs might sooner fail than cause to sigh . A part how small of the terraqueous globe Is tenanted by man ! the rest a waste , Rocks , deserts , frozen seas , and burning sands ; Wild haunts of monsters , poisons , stings , and death ! Such is earth's melancholy map ! But , far More sad ! this earth is a true map of man . So bounded are its haughty lord's delights To Woe's wide empire ; where deep troubles toss , Loud sorrows howl , envenom'd passions bite , Ravenous calamities our vitals seize , And threatening fate wide opens to devour . What then am I , who sorrow for myself ? In age , in infancy , from others' aid Is all our hope ; to teach us to be kind : That Nature's first , last lesson to mankind : The selfish heart deserves the pain it feels . More generous sorrow , while it sinks , exalts ; And conscious virtue mitigates the pang . Nor Virtue , more than Prudence , bids me give Swollen thought a second channel ; who divide , They weaken too , the torrent of their grief . Take then , O world ! thy much-indebted tear : How sad a sight is human happiness To those whose thought can pierce beyond an hour ! O thou , whate'er thou art , whose heart exults ! Wouldst thou I should congratulate thy fate ? I know thou wouldst ; thy pride demands it from me . Let thy pride pardon , what thy nature needs , The salutary censure of a friend . Thou happy wretch ! by blindness art thou blest ; By dotage dandled to perpetual smiles . Know , smiler , at thy peril art thou pleased ; Thy pleasure is the promise of thy pain . Misfortune , like a creditor severe , But rises in demand for her delay ; She makes a scourge of past prosperity , To sting thee more , and double thy distress . Lorenzo , Fortune makes her court to thee . Thy fond heart dances , while the siren sings . Dear is thy welfare ; think me not unkind ; I would not damp , but to secure , thy joys . Think not that fear is sacred to the storm : Stand on thy guard against the smiles of Fate . Is Heaven tremendous in its frowns ? Most sure ; And in its favours formidable too : Its favours here are trials , not rewards ; A call to duty , not discharge from care ; And should alarm us full as much as woes ; Awake us to their cause and consequence ; [ O'er our scann'd conduct give a jealous eye , ] And make us tremble , weigh'd with our desert ; Awe Nature's tumult , and chastise her joys , Lest , while we clasp , we kill them ; nay , invert To worse than simple misery their charms . Revolted joys , like foes in civil war , Like bosom friendships to resentment sour'd , With rage envenom'd rise against our peace . Beware what earth calls happiness ; beware All joys , but joys that never can expire . Who builds on less than an immortal base , Fond as he seems , condemns his joys to death . Mine died with thee , Philander ! thy last sigh Dissolved the charm ; the disenchanted earth Lost all her lustre . Where her glittering towers ? Her golden mountains , where ? All darken'd down To naked waste ; a dreary vale of tears : The great magician's dead ! Thou poor , pale piece Of out-cast earth , in darkness ! what a change From yesterday ! Thy darling hope so near , ( Long-labour'd prize ! ) O how ambition flush'd Thy glowing cheek ! ambition , truly great , Of virtuous praise . Death's subtle seed within , ( Sly , treacherous miner ! ) working in the dark , Smiled at thy well-concerted scheme , and beckon'd The worm to riot on that rose so red , Unfaded ere it fell ; one moment's prey ! Man's foresight is conditionally wise ; Lorenzo ! wisdom into folly turns Oft the first instant its idea fair To labouring thought is born . How dim our eye ! The present moment terminates our sight ; Clouds , thick as those on doomsday , drown the next ; We penetrate , we prophesy in vain . Time is dealt out by particles ; and each , Ere mingled with the streaming sands of life , By Fate's inviolable oath is sworn Deep silence , " where eternity begins . " By Nature's law , what may be , may be now , There's no prerogative in human hours . In human hearts what bolder thought can rise Than man's presumption on to-morrow's dawn ? Where is to-morrow ? In another world . For numbers this is certain ; the reverse Is sure to none ; and yet on this Perhaps , This Peradventure , infamous for lies , As on a rock of adamant we build Our mountain-hopes ; spin out eternal schemes , As we the Fatal Sisters could out-spin , And , big with life's futurities , expire . Not e'en Philander had bespoke his shroud . Nor had he cause ; a warning was denied : How many fall as sudden , not as safe ! As sudden , though for years admonish'd home ! Of human ills the last extreme beware ; Beware , Lorenzo ! a slow-sudden death . How dreadful that deliberate surprise ! Be wise to-day , 't is madness to defer ; Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; Thus on , till wisdom is push'd out of life . Procrastination is the thief of time ; Year after year it steals , till all are fled , And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene . If not so frequent , would not this be strange ? That 't is so frequent , this is stranger still . Of man's miraculous mistakes , this bears The palm , " That all men are about to live , " For ever on the brink of being born . All pay themselves the compliment to think They one day shall not drivel ; and their pride On this reversion takes up ready praise , At least their own ; their future selves applauds ; How excellent that life they ne'er will lead ! Time lodged in their own hands is folly's vails ; That lodged in Fate's , to wisdom they consign ; The thing they can't but purpose they postpone . 'T is not in folly not to scorn a fool ; And scarce in human wisdom to do more . All promise is poor dilatory man , And that through every stage : when young , indeed , In full content we sometimes nobly rest , Unanxious for ourselves ; and only wish , As duteous sons , our fathers were more wise . At thirty , man suspects himself a fool ; Knows it at forty , and reforms his plan ; At fifty , chides his infamous delay , Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ; In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves , and re-resolves ; then dies the same . And why ? Because he thinks himself immortal . All men think all men mortal but themselves ; Themselves , when some alarming shock of Fate Strikes through their wounded hearts the sudden dread . But their hearts wounded , like the wounded air , Soon close ; where pass'd the shaft , no trace is found . As from the wing no scar the sky retains , The parted wave no furrow from the keel , So dies in human hearts the thought of death . E'en with the tender tear which Nature sheds O'er those we love , we drop it in their grave . Can I forget Philander ? That were strange . O my full heart ! — But should I give it vent , The longest night , though longer far , would fail , And the lark listen to my midnight song . The sprightly lark's shrill matin wakes the morn ; Griefs sharpest thorn hard pressing on my breast , I strive , with wakeful melody , to cheer The sullen gloom , sweet Philomel ! like thee , And call the stars to listen : every star Is deaf to mine , enamour'd of thy lay . Yet be not vain ; there are who thine excel , And charm through distant ages . Wrapt in shade , Prisoner of darkness ! to the silent hours , How often I repeat their rage divine , To lull my griefs , and steal my heart from woe ! I roll their raptures , but not catch their fire ; Dark , though not blind , like thee , Maeonides ! Or , Milton , thee ! Ah ! could I reach your strain ! Or his who made Maeonides our own ! Man , too , he sung : immortal man I sing : Oft bursts my song beyond the bounds of life ; What now but immortality can please ? O had he press'd his theme , pursued the track Which opens out of darkness into day ; O had he mounted on his wing of fire , Soar'd where I sink , and sung immortal man ; How had it bless'd mankind , and rescued me !