. Night thoughts. troy?An angels arm cant snatch me from the grave,Legions of angels cant confine rne there. 90 Tis past conjecture; all things rise in proof:While oer my limbs Sleeps soft dominion spreads,AVhat though my soul fantastic measures trodOer fairy fields; or mournd along the gloomOf pathless woods; or down the craggy steep 95 Hurld headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool;Or scald the clifi; or dancd on hollow winds,AVith antic shapes—wild natives of the brain!Her ceaseless flight, though devious, speaks her natureOf subtler essence than the trodden clod; 100 Active, aerial, towri
. Night thoughts. troy?An angels arm cant snatch me from the grave,Legions of angels cant confine rne there. 90 Tis past conjecture; all things rise in proof:While oer my limbs Sleeps soft dominion spreads,AVhat though my soul fantastic measures trodOer fairy fields; or mournd along the gloomOf pathless woods; or down the craggy steep 95 Hurld headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool;Or scald the clifi; or dancd on hollow winds,AVith antic shapes—wild natives of the brain!Her ceaseless flight, though devious, speaks her natureOf subtler essence than the trodden clod; 100 Active, aerial, towring, unconfind,Unfetterd with her gross companions silent Night proclaims my soul immortal:Evn silent Night proclaims eternal human weal, Heavn husbands all events: 105Didl Sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain. AVhy then their loss deplore that are not lost?Why wanders wretched thought their tombs infidel distress? Are angels there?Slumbers rakd up in dust, ethereal fire? 110. Ejti:it^del ^.M jcilp! ///?/• //n/i,/rnj/., //^/j^r///fi>e r/f>./f-^j fi/f ///.i //uu/^/A/.j; Londim. :Puhlijhed Oi-t^Q^/j^t;^ hv ]\^?^-iO^ Holhorn . LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY. 5 They live! they greatly live! a life on earthUnkindled, unconceivd! and from an eyeOf tenderness, let heavnly pity fallOn me, more justly numberd with the is the desert, this the solitude: 115 How populous, how vital, is the grave!This is creations melancholy vale funereal, the sad cypress gloom;The land of apparitions, empty shades!\A11, all on earth is shadow, all beyond 120 ^s substance: The reverse is Follys creed:How solid all, where change shall be no more! This is the bud of being, the dim dawn,1 The twilight of our day, the vestibule;Lifes theatre as yet is shut, and Death, 125 Strong Death alone can heave the massy bar,This gross impediment of clay make us, embryos of existence, real life, but little
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