thou, whose mild dominion's silver key hemisphere, and sets to view
London; Pub Jan:"11802. by Vernor & Hood, and the other Proprietors.
NIGHT THE NINTH AND LAST.
Containing, among other Things,
I. A MORAL SURVEY OF THE NOCTURNAL HEAVENS.
II. A NIGHT-ADDRESS TO THE DEITY.
As when a traveller, a long day past
In painful search of what he cannot find,
At night's approach content with the next cot,
There ruminates, a while, his labour lost :
Then chears his heart with what his fate affords,
And chants his sonnet to deceive the time,
Till the due season calls him to repose:
Thus I, long-travell'd in the ways of men,
And dancing, with the rest, the giddy maze,
Where disappointment smiles at hope's career;
Warn'd by the languor of life's evening ray,
At length have hous'd me in an humble shed
Where, future wand'ring banish'd from my thought,
And waiting, patient, the sweet hour of rest,
I chase the moments with a serious song.
Song sooths our pains; and age has pains to sooth.
When age, care, crime, and friends embrac'd at
Torn from my bleeding breast, and death's dark shade,
Which hovers o'er me, quench th' ethereal fire;
Canst thou, O Night! indulge one labour more?
One labour more indulge! then sleep, my strain!
Till, haply, wak'd by RAPHAEL's golden lyre,
Where night, death, age, care, crime, and sorrow
To bear a part in everlasting lays;
Though far, far higher set, in aim, I trust,
Symphonious to this humble prelude here.
Has not the muse asserted pleasures pure,
Like those above; exploding other joys?
Weigh what was urg'd, LORENZO! fairly weigh;
And tell me, hast thou cause to triumph still?
I think, thou wilt forbear a boast so bold.
But if, beneath the favour of mistake,
Thy smile's sincere; not more sincere can be
LORENZO'S smile, than my compassion for him.
The sick in body call for aid; the sick
In mind are covetous of more disease;
And when at worst, they dream themselves quite well. To know ourselves diseas'd, is half our cure.
When nature's blush by custom is wip'd off,
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