Original poems on several subjects In two volumes. By William Stevenson |
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THE DEIST on a Deathbed
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 | Original poems on several subjects |  |
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THE DEIST on a Deathbed .
------ Avidos vicinum funus ut ægros
Exanimat, mortisque metu sibi parcere cogit:
Sic teneros animos aliena opprobria sæpe
Absterrent vitiis ------
Hor.
Exanimat, mortisque metu sibi parcere cogit:
Sic teneros animos aliena opprobria sæpe
Absterrent vitiis ------
Hor.
O'erwhelming sight! life's torpid tide runs cold!
Approach with awe the hopeless bed of death;
A wretched mortal's closing scene behold!
Convulsions seize him each returning breath:
Just on Eternity's tremendous steep,
How he forebodes the horrours of the dreadful deep!
Approach with awe the hopeless bed of death;
A wretched mortal's closing scene behold!
Convulsions seize him each returning breath:
Just on Eternity's tremendous steep,
How he forebodes the horrours of the dreadful deep!
215
No worthy, virtuous actions, to enhance
The peace and transport of his latter end,
Now, with the sunshine of an angel's glance,
Support his spirits, or his pains suspend:
Years, months, ill-spent, with complicated charge,
Rush on his troubled thoughts, and on each crime enlarge.
The peace and transport of his latter end,
Now, with the sunshine of an angel's glance,
Support his spirits, or his pains suspend:
Years, months, ill-spent, with complicated charge,
Rush on his troubled thoughts, and on each crime enlarge.
Gentle repose his anguish'd pillow flies,
Enamour'd of the couch where Virtue leans;
Or, if a transient slumber shuts his eyes,
Not comfort, but exchange of pain, it means:
Restless and toss'd, imploring ease in vain,
Ten thousand wild ideas shock his tortur'd brain.
Enamour'd of the couch where Virtue leans;
Or, if a transient slumber shuts his eyes,
Not comfort, but exchange of pain, it means:
Restless and toss'd, imploring ease in vain,
Ten thousand wild ideas shock his tortur'd brain.
Wildly he glances round the weeping room,
Tears up his hair, and lacerates his face,
Circled with terrours, envelop'd in gloom,
That on each feature leave their horrid trace:
Keen anguish seizes his astonish'd heart,
And twists its quiv'ring fibres in their tenderest part.
Tears up his hair, and lacerates his face,
Circled with terrours, envelop'd in gloom,
That on each feature leave their horrid trace:
Keen anguish seizes his astonish'd heart,
And twists its quiv'ring fibres in their tenderest part.
216
Fiends seem to whisper torments in his ear,
And flash their scorching lightnings in his eyes;
His pangs of conscience more than man can bear,
Weak helpless man, abandon'd by the skies;
His life one endless round of daring sins,
Self-judg'd, and self-condemn'd, where-e'er his search begins.
And flash their scorching lightnings in his eyes;
His pangs of conscience more than man can bear,
Weak helpless man, abandon'd by the skies;
His life one endless round of daring sins,
Self-judg'd, and self-condemn'd, where-e'er his search begins.
Frantic he raves, he starts, he weeps, he grins,
Convulsive sobs his heaving lungs divide;
“Who,” he exclaims, “will snatch me from my sins?
“Who from a just offended Maker hide?
“Who put aside Death's deep embitter'd cup?
“Or stay Jehovah's arm for vengeance lifted up?
Convulsive sobs his heaving lungs divide;
“Who,” he exclaims, “will snatch me from my sins?
“Who from a just offended Maker hide?
“Who put aside Death's deep embitter'd cup?
“Or stay Jehovah's arm for vengeance lifted up?
“O screen me from the fierceness of his wrath.
“I see him sitting on his awful throne!
“O stop, thou unrelenting tyrant, Death,
“I hear tormented fiends, and furies groan!
“I hear the rattling chain's infernal clank,
“And see accusing demons clos'd in hostile rank.
“I see him sitting on his awful throne!
“O stop, thou unrelenting tyrant, Death,
“I hear tormented fiends, and furies groan!
“I hear the rattling chain's infernal clank,
“And see accusing demons clos'd in hostile rank.
217
“O shade, ye mountains, this accursed head,
“Within thy caverns, Earth, let me be lost;
“Receive me, Ocean, to thy watery bed,
“Whelm'd in thy eddies, with thy billows tost:
“No more to see the sun's detested ray,
“But senseless as the stone, or lifeless as the clay.
“Within thy caverns, Earth, let me be lost;
“Receive me, Ocean, to thy watery bed,
“Whelm'd in thy eddies, with thy billows tost:
“No more to see the sun's detested ray,
“But senseless as the stone, or lifeless as the clay.
“Unconsciousness with misery oft joins,
“O were my senses with dead palsies struck—
“Curse on the sire that bore me in his loins,
“The hated breasts that gave me infant suck!
“Curs'd be the guardians of my youthful days,
“Damnation their reward, and infamy their praise!
“O were my senses with dead palsies struck—
“Curse on the sire that bore me in his loins,
“The hated breasts that gave me infant suck!
“Curs'd be the guardians of my youthful days,
“Damnation their reward, and infamy their praise!
“Ah! cruel Health, how liberal thy supply
“Through every scene of wickedness and lust!
“Why did not lightnings blast my guilty eye,
“And thunders bruise me level with the dust?
“Ah! why did tygers my warm vitals spare?
“Why did not whirlwinds sweep my atoms through the air?
“Through every scene of wickedness and lust!
“Why did not lightnings blast my guilty eye,
“And thunders bruise me level with the dust?
“Ah! why did tygers my warm vitals spare?
“Why did not whirlwinds sweep my atoms through the air?
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“Come, ye companions of my guilt and shame,
“Did not our bosoms with one ardour burn?
“Our pleasures still, and their alloys, the same,
“What! absent all?—unmanly base return!
“Such are Earth's paltry friendships—smooth disguise,
“To cover meanness, self, ingratitude, and lies.
“Did not our bosoms with one ardour burn?
“Our pleasures still, and their alloys, the same,
“What! absent all?—unmanly base return!
“Such are Earth's paltry friendships—smooth disguise,
“To cover meanness, self, ingratitude, and lies.
“O! for some moments interval of time,
“Gracious respite from Heav'n's vindictive blow;
“No more, each brutal vice, each horrid crime,
“Should point me out a spectacle below:
“No more, in all her pride of borrow'd charms,
“Should Pleasure, faithless Siren, court me to her arms.
“Gracious respite from Heav'n's vindictive blow;
“No more, each brutal vice, each horrid crime,
“Should point me out a spectacle below:
“No more, in all her pride of borrow'd charms,
“Should Pleasure, faithless Siren, court me to her arms.
“To roll in oceans of sulphureous fire,
“Remorse, with each curs'd recollection fraught,
“Still stinging—never—never to expire!—
“Burst, burst, my heart, and end this rack of thought.
“Extinction! come—exert thy instant pow'r,
“And end my pangs and being in one happy hour.
“Remorse, with each curs'd recollection fraught,
“Still stinging—never—never to expire!—
“Burst, burst, my heart, and end this rack of thought.
“Extinction! come—exert thy instant pow'r,
“And end my pangs and being in one happy hour.
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“O were the thunder wrested from his hand,
“Who fills the vast expansion of the skies,
“Possess'd (alas!) of uncontrol'd command,
“And quench'd the flaming terrours of his eyes!
“O were Creation vanish'd from the sight,
“And ev'ry thing return'd to chaos and to night!
“Who fills the vast expansion of the skies,
“Possess'd (alas!) of uncontrol'd command,
“And quench'd the flaming terrours of his eyes!
“O were Creation vanish'd from the sight,
“And ev'ry thing return'd to chaos and to night!
“But O! dread Sov'reign of the starry frame,
“Is there no hope of mercy from thy throne?
“Sure Mercy is thy chief, thy darling name,
“Hear then a wretched mortal's dying groan:
“Let his accumulated woes assuage
“Thy wrath, tremendous wrath, and pity, ah! engage.
“Is there no hope of mercy from thy throne?
“Sure Mercy is thy chief, thy darling name,
“Hear then a wretched mortal's dying groan:
“Let his accumulated woes assuage
“Thy wrath, tremendous wrath, and pity, ah! engage.
“Didst Thou create a soul to damn and curse,
“With senses only form'd to suffer pain?
“Or, which is still, Eternal Father, worse,
“Shall thy own Son bleed on a cross in vain?
“Why then did life inspire the plastic clay,
“Let not Redeeming Grace its impotence betray.
“With senses only form'd to suffer pain?
“Or, which is still, Eternal Father, worse,
“Shall thy own Son bleed on a cross in vain?
“Why then did life inspire the plastic clay,
“Let not Redeeming Grace its impotence betray.
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“Presumptuous, bold, unworthy wretch!—below
“The very savage that frequents the wild;
“To Thee shall Heav'n's benign compassion flow,
“So oft rejected and so oft revil'd?
“Devils themselves, with hellish glee, might say,
“Thus pearls were cast to swine, and mercy thrown away.
“The very savage that frequents the wild;
“To Thee shall Heav'n's benign compassion flow,
“So oft rejected and so oft revil'd?
“Devils themselves, with hellish glee, might say,
“Thus pearls were cast to swine, and mercy thrown away.
“Hast thou not vilified that hallow'd Name
“Which prostrate angels worship and adore?
“Without remorse, without one pang of shame,
“Blasphem'd his sacred Cross? could fiends do more?
“From Thee what numbers caught their impious rage!
“Taught from thy foul example to corrupt the age.
“Which prostrate angels worship and adore?
“Without remorse, without one pang of shame,
“Blasphem'd his sacred Cross? could fiends do more?
“From Thee what numbers caught their impious rage!
“Taught from thy foul example to corrupt the age.
“No, die, thou traitor, unlamented die!
“Die, in the view of everlasting pangs;
“While Mercy's self looks with consenting eye,
“And Justice out her equal balance hangs!
“For only thus, while heaven and earth applaud,
“Can Truth itself be Truth, and God himself be God.
“Die, in the view of everlasting pangs;
“While Mercy's self looks with consenting eye,
“And Justice out her equal balance hangs!
“For only thus, while heaven and earth applaud,
“Can Truth itself be Truth, and God himself be God.
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“What! die?—be damn'd?—for ever mourn?—despair?
“No moment's ease (O heav'ns!) no gleam of hope!
“Shall Hell its dungeons, racks, and flames prepare,
“To give malignant vengeance ample scope?
“Well!—let its dungeons, flames, and racks, torment,
“Till all the red-hot fury of the Godhead spent.—
“No moment's ease (O heav'ns!) no gleam of hope!
“Shall Hell its dungeons, racks, and flames prepare,
“To give malignant vengeance ample scope?
“Well!—let its dungeons, flames, and racks, torment,
“Till all the red-hot fury of the Godhead spent.—
“But hear, thou Tyrant, whence all beings came,
“Hear this my only, this my last, request;
“When ages I have fed the scorching flame,
“Ten thousand times ten thousand—let me rest:
“When fiends themselves grow tir'd to hear me rave,
“Oh! let me sink for ever in the silent grave.”
“Hear this my only, this my last, request;
“When ages I have fed the scorching flame,
“Ten thousand times ten thousand—let me rest:
“When fiends themselves grow tir'd to hear me rave,
“Oh! let me sink for ever in the silent grave.”
Thus, Death's cold falter seizing on his tongue,
With lips that quiver, and with eye-balls fix'd,
His hands in agony together wrung,
His cries ascend, with desperation mix'd.
But ah! no comfort gilds his closing day,
But deep Despair's sad clouds hang thick in black array!
With lips that quiver, and with eye-balls fix'd,
His hands in agony together wrung,
His cries ascend, with desperation mix'd.
But ah! no comfort gilds his closing day,
But deep Despair's sad clouds hang thick in black array!
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A flash of grief, not for a life ill spent,
But present pain, and dread of future wo;
Ah! this is not sincerely to repent,
But formal mock'ry oft, and specious show.
Distress can make quick penitents of all,
But few (how few!) repent at Health's or Pleasure's call!
But present pain, and dread of future wo;
Ah! this is not sincerely to repent,
But formal mock'ry oft, and specious show.
Distress can make quick penitents of all,
But few (how few!) repent at Health's or Pleasure's call!
He stares with grisly terrour in his face,
He heaves, he bounds, he wreaths, he groans, he dies!—
Good God! what horrours hover o'er the place,
Where the poor heav'n-deserted sinner lies!
But let the Muse here all reflections wave,
God, in a moment, both can pardon and can save.
He heaves, he bounds, he wreaths, he groans, he dies!—
Good God! what horrours hover o'er the place,
Where the poor heav'n-deserted sinner lies!
But let the Muse here all reflections wave,
God, in a moment, both can pardon and can save.
O Virtue! may thy comforts still be mine,
Sister of Wisdom! daughter of the skies!
Whate'er my state below by will divine,
Whether my outward fortunes sink or rise:
Grant me the sunshine of a mind at ease,
Protracted life, or death, then equally will please.
Sister of Wisdom! daughter of the skies!
Whate'er my state below by will divine,
Whether my outward fortunes sink or rise:
Grant me the sunshine of a mind at ease,
Protracted life, or death, then equally will please.
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Benign Religion, in thy friendly arms,
Howe'er through Folly's paths we trod before,
Howe'er we doted on far other charms,
Gently would we recline, and be no more!
O! at life's solemn period, be thou near,
To smoothe my dying bed, to comfort, and to cheer.
Howe'er through Folly's paths we trod before,
Howe'er we doted on far other charms,
Gently would we recline, and be no more!
O! at life's solemn period, be thou near,
To smoothe my dying bed, to comfort, and to cheer.
Let Grandeur then avert her scornful eye,
Let Honour frown, and Wealth reject my claim;
I matter not, sure of my native sky,
What though unknown to Glory and to Fame!
Wrote on my tomb, completed life's short span,
“Here lies an humble Christian, and an honest man.”
Let Honour frown, and Wealth reject my claim;
I matter not, sure of my native sky,
What though unknown to Glory and to Fame!
Wrote on my tomb, completed life's short span,
“Here lies an humble Christian, and an honest man.”
The Muses never seem so worthily employed as when they are engaged in the cause of Virtue and Religion; and surely both must appear recommended by additional charms, when contrasted with the frightful spectacle exhibited in the following verses; which may serve as the writer's apology for making it public. It is no fiction of the brain, or specimen of poetical licence, but the true representation of an unhappy man in his last moments: A man of rank, learning, and fortune; but alas! during the course of a despicable and inglorious life, addicted to the grossest scenes of vice and impiety.—An obvious difficulty occurred in conducting this most disagreeable subject, viz. how to preserve the dreadful outlines of the picture, without, at the same time, introducing objects quite horrible to imagination, and shocking to humanity itself.—However, as it is, may it excite proper sentiments in the breast of every reader.
| Original poems on several subjects | |