DEATH: A POETICAL ESSAY. Beilby Porteus Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T116245 1136 K093079.003 Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. III. [The second edition]. London printed for G. Pearch 1770 pp. 49-60. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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DEATH : A POETICAL ESSAY . BY DR. PORTEUS . FIRST PRINTED AT CAMBRIDGE , 1759. FRIEND to the wretch , whom every friend forsakes , I woo thee , Death ! In Fancy's fairy paths Let the gay Songster rove , and gently trill The strain of empty joy . — Life and its joys I leave to those that prize them . — At this hour , This solemn hour , when Silence rules the world , And wearied Nature makes a general pause ! Wrapt in Night's sable robe , through cloysters drear And charnels pale , tenanted by a throng Of meagre phantoms shooting cross my path With silent glance , I seek the shadowy vale Of Death . — Deep in a murky cave's recess Lav'd by Oblivion's listless stream , and fenc'd By shelving rocks and intermingled horrors Of yew' and cypress' shade from all intrusion Of busy noontide-beam , the Monarch sits In unsubstantial Majesty enthron'd . At his right hand , nearest himself in place And frightfulness of form , his parent Sin With fatal industry and cruel care Busies herself in pointing all his stings , And tipping every shaft with venom drawn From her infernal store : around him rang'd In terrible array and strange diversity Of uncouth shapes , stand his dread Ministers : Foremost Old Age , his natural ally And firmest friend : next him diseases thick , A motley train ; Fever with cheek of fire ; Consumption wan ; Palsy , half warm with life , And half a clay-cold lump ; joint-torturing Gout , And ever-gnawing Rheum ; Convulsion wild ; Swol'n Dropsy ; panting Asthma ; Apoplex Full-gorg'd . — There too the Pestilence that walks In darkness , and the Sickness that destroys At broad noon-day . These and a thousand more , Horrid to tell , attentive wait ; and , when By Heaven's command Death waves his ebon wand , Sudden rush forth to execute his purpose , And scatter desolation o'er the Earth . Ill-fated Man , for whom such various forms Of Misery wait , and mark their future prey ! Ah ! why , All-Righteous Father , didst thou make This Creature Man ? why wake th' unconscious dust To life and wretchedness ? O better far Still had he slept in uncreated night , If this the Lot of Being ! — Was it for this Thy Breath divine kindled within his breast The vital flame ? For this was thy fair image Stampt on his soul in godlike lineaments ? For this dominion given him absolute O'er all thy creatures , only that he might reign Supreme in woe ? From the blest source of Good Could Pain and Death proceed ? Could such foul Ills Fall from fair Mercy's hands ? Far be the thought , The impious thought ! God never made a Creature But what was good . He made a living Man : The Man of Death was made by Man himself . Forth from his Maker's hands he sprung to life , Fresh with immortal bloom ; No pain he knew , No fear of death , no check to his desires Save one command . That one command ( which stood 'Twixt him and ruin , the test of his obedience , ) Urg'd on by wanton curiosity He broke . — There in one moment was undone The fairest of God's works . The same rash hand That pluck'd in evil hour the fatal fruit , Unbarr'd the gates of Hell , and let loose Sin And Death and all the family of Pain To prey upon Mankind . Young Nature saw The monstrous crew , and shook thro' all her frame . Then fled her new-born lustre , then began . Heaven's chearful face to low'r , then vapours choak'd The troubled air , and form'd a veil of clouds To hide the willing Sun . The Earth convuls'd With painful throes threw forth a bristly crop Of thorns and briars ; and Insect , Bird , and Beast , That wont before with admiration fond To gaze at Man , and fearless croud around him , Now fled before his face , shunning in haste Th' infection of his misery . He alone , Who justly might , th' offended Lord of Man , Turn'd not away his face , he full of pity Forsook not in this uttermost distress His best-lov'd work . That comfort still remain'd , ( That best , that greatest comfort in affliction ) The countenance of God , and thro' the gloom Shot forth some kindly gleams , to chear and warm Th' offender's sinking soul . Hope sent from Heaven Uprais'd his drooping head , and shew'd afar A happier scene of things ; the Promis'd Seed Trampling upon the Serpent's humbled crest , Death of his sting disarm'd , and the dank grave Made pervious to the realms of endless day , No more the limit but the gate of life . Chear'd with the view , Man went to till the ground From whence he rose ; sentenc'd indeed to toil As to a punishment , yet ( ev'n in wrath So merciful is Heaven ) this toil became The solace of his woes , the sweet employ Of many a live-long hour , and surest guard Against disease and Death . — Death tho' denounc'd Was yet a distant Ill , by feeble arm Of Age , his sole support , led slowly on . Not then , as since , the short-liv'd sons of men Flock'd to his realms in countless multitudes ; Scarce in the course of twice five hundred years One solitary ghost went shivering down To his unpeopled shore . In sober state , Through the sequester'd vale of rural life , The venerable Patriarch guileless held The tenor of his way ; Labour prepar'd His simple fare , and Temperance rul'd his board . Tir'd with his daily toil , at early eve He sunk to sudden rest ; gentle and pure As breath of evening Zephyr and as sweet Were all his slumbers ; with the Sun lie rose , Alert and vigorous as He , to run His destin'd course . Thus nerv'd with Giant Strength He stem'd the tide of time , and stood the shock Of ages rolling harmless o'er his head . At life's meridian point arriv'd , he stood , And looking round saw all the vallies fill'd With nations from his loins ; full-well content To leave his race thus scatter'd o'er the Earth , Along the gentle slope of life's decline He bent his gradual way , till full of years He dropt like mellow fruit into his grave . Such in the infancy of time was Man , So calm was life , so impotent was Death . O had he but preserv'd these few remains , These shatter'd fragments of lost happiness , Snatch'd by the hand of heaven from the sad wreck Of innocence primaeval ; still had he liv'd Great ev'n in ruin ; tho' fall'n , yet not forlorn ; Though mortal , yet not every where beset With Death in every shape ! But He , impatient To be compleatly wretched , hastes to fill up The measure of his woes . 'Twas Man himself Brought Death into the world , And Man himself Gave keenness to his darts , quicken'd his pace , And multiplied destruction on mankind . First Envy , Eldest-Born of Hell , embru'd Her hands in blood , and taught the Sons of Men To make a Death which Nature never made , And God abhorr'd , with violence rude to break The thread of life ere half its length was run , And rob a wretched brother of his being . With joy Ambition saw , and soon improv'd The execrable deed . 'Twas not enough By subtle fraud to snatch a single life , Puny impiety ! whole kingdoms fell To sate the lust of power ; more horrid still , The foulest stain and scandal of our nature Became its boast . — One Murder made a Villain , Millions a Hero . — Princes were privileg'd To kill , and numbers sanctified the crime . Ah ! why will Kings forget that they are Men ? And Men that they are brethren ? Why delight In human sacrifice ? Why burst the ties Of Nature , that should knit their souls together In one soft bond of amity and love ? Yet still they breathe destruction , still go on Inhumanly ingenious to find out New pains for life , new terrors for the grave , Artificers of Death ! Still Monarchs dream Of universal Empire growing up From universal ruin . — Blast the design , Great God of Hosts , nor let thy creatures fall Unpitied victims at Ambition's shrine ! Yet say , should Tyrants learn at last to feel , And the loud din of battle cease to roar ; Should dove-ey'd Peace o'er all the earth extend Her olive branch , and give the world repose , Would Death be foil'd ? Would health , and strength , and youth Defy his power ? Has he no arts in store , No other shafts save those of war ? — Alas ! Ev'n in the smile of Peace , that smile which sheds A heavenly sunshine o'er the soul , there basks That serpent Luxury : War its thousands slays , Peace its ten thousands : In th' embattled plain Though Death exults , and claps his raven wings , Yet reigns he not ev'n there so absolute , So merciless , as in yon frantic scenes Of midnight revel and tumultuous mirth , Where , in th' intoxicating draught conceal'd , Or couch'd beneath the glance of lawless Love , He snares the simple youth , who nought suspecting Means to be blest — But finds himself undone . Down the smooth stream of life the Stripling darts Gay as the morn ; bright glows the vernal sky , Hope swells his sails , and Fancy steers his course ; Safe glides his little bark along the shore Where Virtue takes her stand ; but if too far He launches forth beyond Discretion's mark , Sudden the tempest scowls , the surges roar , Blot his fair day , and plunge him in the deep . O sad but sure mischance ! O happier far To lie like gallant Howe midst Indian wilds A breathless corse , cut off by savage hands In earliest prime , a generous sacrifice To Freedom's holy cause ; than so to fail Tern immature from life's meridian joys , A prey to Vice , Intemperance , and Disease . Yet die ev'n thus , thus rather perish still , Ye Sons of Pleasure , by th' Almighty stricken , Than ever dare ( though oft , alas ! ye dare ) To lift against yourselves the murderous steel , To wrest from God's own hand the sword of Justice , And be your own avengers . — Hold , rash Man , Though with anticipating speed thou'st rang'd Through every region of delight , nor left One joy to gild the evening of thy days , Though life seem one uncomfortable void , Guilt at thy heels , before thy face despair , Yet gay this scene , and light this load of woe , Compar'd with thy hereafter . Think , O think , And ere thou plunge into the vast abyss , Pause on the verge awhile , look down and see Thy future mansion . — Why that start of horror ? From thy slack hand why drops th' uplifted steel ? Didst thou not think such vengeance must await The wretch , that with his crimes all fresh about him Rushes irreverent , unprepar'd , uncall'd , Into his Maker's presence , throwing back With insolent disdain his choicest gift ? Live then , while Heaven in pity lends thee life , And think it all too short to wash away By penitential tears and deep contrition The scarlet of thy crimes . So shalt thou find Rest to thy soul , so unappall'd shalt meet Death when he comes , not wantonly invite His lingering stroke . Be it thy sole concern With innocence to live , with patience wait Th' appointed hour ; too soon that hour will come , Tho' Nature run her course ; But Nature's God , If need require , by thousand various ways , Without thy aid , can shorten that short span , And quench the lamp of life . — O when he comes , Rous'd by the cry of wickedness extreme To Heaven ascending from some guilty land Now ripe for vengeance ; when he comes array'd In all the terrors of Almighty wrath ; Forth from his bosom plucks his lingering Arm , And on the miscreants pours destruction down ! Who can abide his coming ? Who can bear His whole displeasure ? In no common form Death then appears , but starting into Size Enormous , measures with gigantic stride Th' astonish'd Earth , and from his looks throws round Unutterable horror and dismay . All Nature lends her aid . Each Element Arms in his cause . Ope fly the doors of Heaven , The fountains of the deep their barriers break , Above , below , the rival torrents pour , And drown Creation , or in floods of fire Descends a livid cataract , and consumes An impious race . — Sometimes when all seems peace , Wakes the grim whirlwind , and with rude embrace Sweeps nations to their grave , or in the deep Whelms the proud wooden world ; full many a youth Floats on his watery bier , or lies unwept On some sad desert shore ! — At dead of night In sullen silence stalks forth Pestilence : Contagion close behind taints all her steps With poisonous dew ; no smiting Hand is seen , No sound is heard ; but soon her secret path Is mark'd with desolation ; heaps on heaps Promiscuous drop : No friend , no refuge near ; All , all , is false and treacherous around , All that they touch , or taste , or breathe , is Death . But ah ! what means that ruinous roar ? why fail These tottering feet ? — Earth to its centre feels The Godhead's power , and trembling at his touch Through all its pillars , and in every pore , Hurls to the ground with one convulsive heave Precipitating domes , and towns , and towers , The work of ages . Crush'd beneath the weight Of general devastation , millions find One common grave ; not ev'n a widow left To wail her sons : the house , that should protect , Entombs its master , and the faithless plain , If there he flies for help , with sudden yawn Starts from beneath him . — Shield me , gracious Heaven ! O snatch me from destruction ! If this Globe , This solid Globe , which thine own hand hath made So firm and sure , if this my steps betray ; If my own mother Earth from whence I sprung Rise up with rage unnatural to devour Her wretched offspring , whither shall I fly ? Where look for succour ? Where , but up to thee , Almighty Father ? Save , O save thy suppliant From horrors such as these ! — At thy good time Let Death approach ; I reck not — let him but come In genuine form , not with thy vengeance arm'd , Too much for Man to bear . O rather lend Thy kindly aid to mitigate his stroke , And at that hour when all aghast I stand , ( A trembling Candidate for thy compassion , ) On this World's brink , and look into the next ; When my soul starting from the dark unknown Casts back a wishful look , and fondly clings To her frail prop , unwilling to be wrench'd From this fair scene , from all her custom'd joys , And all the lovely relatives of life , Then shed thy comforts o'er me ; then put on The gentlest of thy looks . Let no dark Crimes In all their hideous forms then starting up Plant themselves round my couch in grim array , And stab my bleeding heart with two edg'd-torture , Sense of past guilt , and dread of future woe . Far be the ghastly crew ! and in their stead , Let chearful Memory from her purest cells Lead forth a goodly train of Virtues fair Cherish'd in earliest youth , now paying back With tenfold usury the pious care , And pouring o'er my wounds the heavenly balm Of conscious innocence . — But chiefly , Thou , Whom soft-ey'd Pity once led down from Heaven To bleed for Man , to teach him how to live , And , oh ! still harder Lesson ! how to die , Disdain not Thou to smooth the restless bed Of Sickness and of Pain . — Forgive the tear That feeble Nature drops , calm all her fears , Wake all her hopes , and animate her faith , Till my rapt Soul anticipating Heaven Bursts from the thraldom of incumbering clay , And on the wing of Extasy upborn Springs into Liberty , and Light , and Life .