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106 BLACKMORE'S POEMS.
Who, of their own forgetful, feek his good,
Enfold his limbs in bands, and fill his veins with food ?
That man is frail and mortal, is confeft;

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Convulsions rack his nerves, and cares his breaft;
His flying life is chac'd by ravening pains
Through all its doubles in the winding veins ;
Within himself he fure deftruction breeds,
And fecret torment in his bowels feeds ;

340 By cruel tyrants, by the favage beaft, Or his own fiercer passions, he's opprest; Now breathes malignant air, now poifon drinks; By gradual death, or by untimely, finks.

But these objectors must the Caufe upbraid, 345 That has not mortal man immortal made; For, if he once muft feel the fatal blow, Is it of great importane when, or how ? Should the Lucretian lingering life maintain Through numerous ages, ignorant of pain, Still might the difcontented murmurer cry, Ah, hapless fate of man! ah, wretch, doom'd once to die! But oh! how soon would you, who thus complain, And Nature's Cause of cruelty arraign, By reason's standard this mistake correct,

355 And cease to murmur, did you once reficet, That death removes us only from our ftat, Does not extinguish life, but change its state. Then are display'd (oh ravishing furprize!) Fair fcenes of bliss, and triumphs in the skies ; To which admitted, each fuperior mind, By virtue’s vital energy refin’d,

Shines

550

Shines forth with more than solar glory bright,
And, cloath'd with robes of beatific light,
His hours in heavenly transports does employ, 365
Young with immortal bloom from living streams of joy.

You ask us, why the foil the thistle breeds ?
Why its fpontaneous births are thorns and weeds ?
Why for the harvest it the harrow needs ?
The Author might a nobler world have made, 370
In brighter dress the hills and vales

array'd, And all its face in Aowery scenes display'd ; The glebe untill’d might plenteous crops have borne, And brought forth spicy groves instead of thorn ; Rich fruit and flowers without the gardener's pains 375 Might every hill have crown'd, have honour'd all the This Nature might have boasted, had the Mind, (plains: Who form’d the fpacious universe, defign'd That man, from labour free as well as grief, Should pass in lazy luxury his life.

380
But He his creature gave a fertile foil,
Fertile, but not without the owner's toil;
That some reward his industry should crown,
And that his foo:) in part might be his own.

But while, insulting, you arraign the land,
Afk, why it wants the plough, or labourer's hand ?
Kind to the marble rocks, you ne'er complain
That they without the sculptor's skill and pain
No perfect statue yield, no baffe relieve,
Or finish'd co!umn for the palace give ;

390 Yet if from hills unlabour'd figures came, Man might have ease enjoy’d, though never fame.

You

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BLACK.MORE'S POEMS. You may

the world of more defects upbraid: That other works by Nature are unmade ; That she did never at her own expence,

395 A palace rear, and in magnificence Out-rival art, to grace the stately rooms ; That she no castle builds, no lofty domes. Had Nature's hand these various works prepard, What thoughtful care, what labour, had been spar'd!' But then no realm would one great master show, No Phidias Greece, and Rome no Angelo. With equal reason too you might demand, Why boats and ships require the Artist's hand ? Why generous Nature did not these provide,

405 To pass the standing lake, or flowing tide ?

You say the hills, which high in air arise, .. Harbour in clouds, and mingle with the skies, The earth's dishonour and encumbering load, Of many spacious regions man defraud, For beasts and birds of prey a desolate abode. But can th' objector no convenience find In mountains, hills, and rocks, which gird and bind The mighty frame, that else would be disjoin’d? Do not those heaps the raging tide restrain, 415 And for the dome afford the marble vein? Does not the river from the mountain Aow, . And bring down riches to the vale below? See, how the torrent rolls the golden sand From the high ridges to the flatter land.

42 The lofty lines abound with endless store Of mineral treasure, and metallic ore ;

With

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With precious veins of silver, copper, tin,
Without how barren, yet how rich within !

They bear the pine, the oak and cedar yield, 425 - To form the palace, and the navy build.

When the inclement meteors you aceuse,
And ask if gracious Gods would storms produce;
You ne'er reflect, that by the driving wind
The air from noxious vapours is refin’d,

430
Freed from the putrid seeds of pain and death,
That living creatures might not, by their breath,
Through their warm veins, instead of vital food,
Disperse contagion, and corrupt their blood.
Without the wind the fhip were made in vain, 435
Adventurous merchants could not cross the main,
Nor sever'd realms their gainful trade maintain.
Then with this wife reflection

you

disturb Your anxious thought, that our terrestrial orb In many.parts is not by man poíTest,

440 With too much heat, or too much cold, opprest. But in mistake you this objection found : Unnumber'd isles and spacious tracts of ground, Which feel the scorching fun's directer beam, And did to you inhospitable seem,

445 With tawny nations, or with black, abound, With noble rivers lav'd, with plenty crown'd; And regions too from the bright-orb remote Are peopled, which you unfrequented thouglrt.

But could Lucretius on the sun reflect, His proper distance from the earth respect, Observe his constant road, his equal pace, His round diurnal, and his annual race ;

Could

Could he regard the nature of the light,
Its beauteous lustre, and its rapid flight, 455
And its relation to the sense of Gght;
Could he to all these miracles advert,
And not in all perceive one stroke of art?
Grant, that the motions of the fun are such,
That some have light too little, fome too much; 460
Grant, that in different tracks he inight have rollid,
And given each clime more equal heat and cold;
Yet view the revolutions, as they are,
Does there no wisdom, no defign, appear?
Could any but a knowing, prudent Cause, 465
Begin such motions, and assign such laws ?
If the Great Mind had form’d a different frame,
Might not your wanton wit the systein blame?
Though here you all perfection should not find,
Yet is it all th' Eternal Will defign'd:
It is a finith'd World, and perfect in its kind.
Not that its regións every charm include,
With which celestial empires are endued ;
Nor is consummate goodness here conferr'd,
If we perfection absolute regard;

475 But what's before afferted, we repeat, Of the vast whole it is a part compleat.

But since you are displeas'd the partial fun
Is not indulgent to the frigid zone;
Suppose more funs in proper orbits rolld,

480
Dillolv'd the snows, and chac'd the polar cold;
Or grant that this revolv'd in such a way,
As equal heat to all he might convey,
And give their difiant poles the share of day;

Observe

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