Poems, moral and descriptive By the late Richard Jago ... (Prepared for the press, and improved by the author, before his death.) To which is added, some account of the life and writings of Mr. Jago |
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An ELEGY on MAN.
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 | Poems, moral and descriptive |  |
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An ELEGY on MAN.
WRITTEN JANUARY 1752.
Behold Earth's Lord, imperial Man,
In ripen'd vigour gay;
His outward form attentive scan,
And all within survey.
In ripen'd vigour gay;
His outward form attentive scan,
And all within survey.
Behold his plans of future life,
His care, his hope, his love,
Relations dear of child, and wife,
The dome, the lawn, the grove.
His care, his hope, his love,
Relations dear of child, and wife,
The dome, the lawn, the grove.
Now see within his active mind,
More gen'rous passions share,
Friend, neighbour, country, all his kind,
By turns engage his care.
More gen'rous passions share,
Friend, neighbour, country, all his kind,
By turns engage his care.
Behold him range with curious eye,
O'er Earth from pole to pole,
And thro' th'illimitable sky
Explore with daring soul.
O'er Earth from pole to pole,
And thro' th'illimitable sky
Explore with daring soul.
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Yet pass some twenty fleeting years,
And all his glory flies,
His languid eye is bath'd in tears,
He sickens, groans, and dies.
And all his glory flies,
His languid eye is bath'd in tears,
He sickens, groans, and dies.
And is this all his destin'd lot,
This all his boasted sway?
For ever now to be forgot,
Amid the mould'ring clay!
This all his boasted sway?
For ever now to be forgot,
Amid the mould'ring clay!
Ah gloomy thought! ah worse than death!
Life sickens at the sound;
Better it were not draw our breath,
Than run this empty round.
Life sickens at the sound;
Better it were not draw our breath,
Than run this empty round.
Hence, cheating Fancy, then, away
O let us better try,
By Reason's more enlighten'd ray,
What 'tis indeed to die.
O let us better try,
By Reason's more enlighten'd ray,
What 'tis indeed to die.
Observe yon mass of putrid earth,
It holds an embryo-brood,
Ev'n now the reptiles crawl to birth,
And seek their leafy food.
It holds an embryo-brood,
Ev'n now the reptiles crawl to birth,
And seek their leafy food.
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Yet stay 'till some few suns are past,
Each forms a silken tomb,
And seems, like man, imprison'd fast,
To meet his final doom.
Each forms a silken tomb,
And seems, like man, imprison'd fast,
To meet his final doom.
Yet from this silent mansion too
Anon you see him rise,
No more a crawling worm to view,
But tenant of the skies.
Anon you see him rise,
No more a crawling worm to view,
But tenant of the skies.
And what forbids that man should share,
Some more auspicious day,
To range at large in open air,
As light and free as they?
Some more auspicious day,
To range at large in open air,
As light and free as they?
There was a time when life first warm'd
Our flesh in shades of night,
Then was th'imperfect substance form'd,
And sent to view this light.
Our flesh in shades of night,
Then was th'imperfect substance form'd,
And sent to view this light.
There was a time, when ev'ry sense
In straiter limits dwelt,
Yet each its task cou'd then dispense,
We saw, we heard, we felt.
In straiter limits dwelt,
Yet each its task cou'd then dispense,
We saw, we heard, we felt.
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And times there are, when thro' the veins
The blood forgets to flow,
Yet then a living pow'r remains,
Tho' not in active show.
The blood forgets to flow,
Yet then a living pow'r remains,
Tho' not in active show.
Times too there be, when friendly Sleep's
Soft charms the Senses bind,
Yet Fancy then her vigils keeps,
And ranges unconfin'd.
Soft charms the Senses bind,
Yet Fancy then her vigils keeps,
And ranges unconfin'd.
And Reason holds her sep'rate sway,
Tho' all the Senses wake,
And forms in Mem'ry's storehouse play,
Of no material make.
Tho' all the Senses wake,
And forms in Mem'ry's storehouse play,
Of no material make.
What are these then, this eye, this ear,
But nicer organs found,
A glass to read, a trump to hear,
The modes of shape, or sound?
But nicer organs found,
A glass to read, a trump to hear,
The modes of shape, or sound?
And blows may maim, or time impair
These instruments of clay,
And Death may ravish what they spare,
Compleating their decay.
These instruments of clay,
And Death may ravish what they spare,
Compleating their decay.
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But are these then that living Pow'r
That thinks, compares, and rules?
Then say a scaffold is a tow'r,
A workman is his tools.
That thinks, compares, and rules?
Then say a scaffold is a tow'r,
A workman is his tools.
For aught appears that Death can do,
That still survives his stroke,
Its workings plac'd beyond our view,
Its present commerce broke.
That still survives his stroke,
Its workings plac'd beyond our view,
Its present commerce broke.
But what connections it may find,
Boots much to hope, and fear,
And if Instruction courts the mind,
'Tis madness not to hear.
Boots much to hope, and fear,
And if Instruction courts the mind,
'Tis madness not to hear.
| Poems, moral and descriptive | |