ong (and that with specious pleas) adored,
A separate conquest gains o'er rebel thought;
And leads in triumph the whole mind of man. 1430
Lorenzo! this may seem harangue to thee;
Such all is apt to seem, that thwarts our will.
And dost thou, then, demand a simple proof
Of this great master moral of the skies,
Unskill'd, or disinclined, to read it there?
Since 'tis the basis, and all drops without it,
Take it, in one compact, unbroken chain.
Such proof insists on an attentive ear;
'Twill not make one amid a mob of thoughts, 1439
And, for thy notice, struggle with the world.
Retire;--the world shut out;--thy thoughts call home;--
Imagination's airy wing repress;--
Lock up thy senses;--let no passion stir;--
Wake all to Reason;--let her reign alone;--
Then, in thy soul's deep silence, and the depth
Of Nature's silence, midnight, thus inquire,
As I have done; and shall inquire no more.
In nature's channel, thus the questions run:
"What am I? and from whence?--I nothing know,
But that I am; and, since I am, conclude 1450
Something eternal: had there e'er been nought,
Nought still had been: eternal there must be.--
But what eternal?--Why not human race?
And Adam's ancestors without an end?--
That's hard to be conceived; since every link
Of that long-chain'd succession is so frail;
Can every part depend, and not the whole?
Yet grant it true; new difficulties rise;
I'm still quite out at sea; nor see the shore.
Whence earth, and these bright orbs?--eternal too?
Grant matter was eternal; still these orbs 1461
Would want some other father;--much design
Is seen in all their motions, all their makes;
Design implies intelligence, and art;
That can't be from themselves--or man; that art
Man scarce can comprehend, could man bestow?
And nothing greater yet allow'd than man.--
Who, motion, foreign to the smallest grain,
Shot through vast masses of enormous weight?
Who bid brute matter's restive lump assume 1470
Such various forms, and gave it wings to fly?
Has matter innate motion? then each atom,
Asserting its indisputable right 1473
To dance, would form an universe of dust:
Has matter none? Then whence these glorious forms
And boundless flights, from shapeless, and reposed?
Has