 | The Modern Dunciad |  |
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THE PENITENT.
Scene.—The Chamber of Death.ATTENDANT.—PENITENT.
Att.
And hast thou drain'd the poison'd bowl?
Speak, pallid victim of despair!
Remorse and horror shake thy soul
For hidden guilt too strong to bear—
And what a bitter groan was there!
Ah! sure thy crime is dark and deep—
If hell hath terrors, breathe a pray'r;
If heav'n hath joys, repent and weep.
Pen.
O torture not my bleeding breast,
Nor add to death a pang more keen;
On earth I sought in vain for rest,
So hasten'd to a calmer scene:
The sleep eternal how serene,
That brings oblivion to my woe!—
Att.
But there's an awful gulf between,
Which thou must pass, or sink below.
Pen.
Disciples of the Atheist creed
Exult, your victim here behold!
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Your lesson teaches to be bold!
See one who by your arts controll'd,
Hath ev'ry tie of nature riven;
Friends, fortune, fame, existence sold;
All joy on earth, all hope in heaven.
With you, ye philosophic train,
New schemes I form'd, new systems try'd,
The laws of nature to explain,
With erring reason for my guide:
I spread your doctrines far and wide,
I laugh'd to scorn creation's plan;
And God, O height of human pride!
Arraign'd before the bar of man.
New schemes I form'd, new systems try'd,
The laws of nature to explain,
With erring reason for my guide:
I spread your doctrines far and wide,
I laugh'd to scorn creation's plan;
And God, O height of human pride!
Arraign'd before the bar of man.
I flew, to quiet my alarms,
Where joy the sparkling goblet crown'd;
And wine's intoxicating charms
The cares of dull existence drown'd:
I join'd in pleasure's madd'ning round,
And though my heart consum'd the while,
Beneath a rankling, torturing wound,
My features wore a ghastly smile!
Where joy the sparkling goblet crown'd;
And wine's intoxicating charms
The cares of dull existence drown'd:
I join'd in pleasure's madd'ning round,
And though my heart consum'd the while,
Beneath a rankling, torturing wound,
My features wore a ghastly smile!
How chang'd the scene,—yon glorious sun,
That gilds creation with his rays,
Grew dark to me,—'twas mine to shun
His early rising, noon-tide blaze:
I sought the wood's untrodden ways,
And pac'd, with melanchloy tread,
The church-yard's solitary ways,
To hold communion with the dead.
That gilds creation with his rays,
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His early rising, noon-tide blaze:
I sought the wood's untrodden ways,
And pac'd, with melanchloy tread,
The church-yard's solitary ways,
To hold communion with the dead.
Hark! 'twas a whisper from the tomb:—
“Why, suff'rer, wilt thou ling'ring stay?
Doth parent earth deny thee room,
Now all thy joys are pass'd away?
Grief, disappointment, doubt, dismay,
Unhallow'd love, and rage severe,
Disturb'd us thro' life's feverish day,
But cannot break our slumber here.”
“Why, suff'rer, wilt thou ling'ring stay?
Doth parent earth deny thee room,
Now all thy joys are pass'd away?
Grief, disappointment, doubt, dismay,
Unhallow'd love, and rage severe,
Disturb'd us thro' life's feverish day,
But cannot break our slumber here.”
I've seen in heav'nly visions bright
Those seats where blessed spirits dwell;
Eternal fields of living light,
Such as no mortal tongue may tell;
And in the lowest depths of hell
I've listen'd to the hideous scream
Of angels who did once rebel—
And started from the fearful dream!
Those seats where blessed spirits dwell;
Eternal fields of living light,
Such as no mortal tongue may tell;
And in the lowest depths of hell
I've listen'd to the hideous scream
Of angels who did once rebel—
And started from the fearful dream!
Will peace ne'er charm my breast again?
I frantic cried—and breath'd a pray'r,
When darting swift across my brain
Distraction came—the fiend was there!
Then loud, in agony, despair,
I ask'd of pitying heav'n to die;
And frenzied, with my bosom bare,
Defied the bolt that thunder'd by.
I frantic cried—and breath'd a pray'r,
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Distraction came—the fiend was there!
Then loud, in agony, despair,
I ask'd of pitying heav'n to die;
And frenzied, with my bosom bare,
Defied the bolt that thunder'd by.
I've thought that in a brittle bark
They bore me o'er the boundless deep,
And plac'd me as misfortune's mark
On some lone shore, or rocky steep,
Where I have sat me down to weep,
While the loud billows foam'd below;
Doom'd one eternal watch to keep,
An immortality of woe.
They bore me o'er the boundless deep,
And plac'd me as misfortune's mark
On some lone shore, or rocky steep,
Where I have sat me down to weep,
While the loud billows foam'd below;
Doom'd one eternal watch to keep,
An immortality of woe.
Would that the soul might sleep in dust,
And with her mortal part expire—
What! shall th' Eternal prove unjust?
Vain, selfish, impotent desire!
For me suspend his dreadful ire?
For me his sword of vengeance sheathe?
My heart is wrung, my brain's on fire,
Hell opens, and I sink beneath!
Att.
And with her mortal part expire—
What! shall th' Eternal prove unjust?
Vain, selfish, impotent desire!
For me suspend his dreadful ire?
For me his sword of vengeance sheathe?
My heart is wrung, my brain's on fire,
Hell opens, and I sink beneath!
Be calm, for 'tis thy hour of death,
The conflict sad will soon be o'er—
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In ravings wild—a little more,
And thou shalt reach that unknown shore—
Seek Him whose pow'r alone can save—
Yes, while thou canst, thy sin deplore:
There's no repentance in the grave.
O listen to the Saviour's voice—
—Son of adversity, draw near,
And I will make thy heart rejoice,
And I will wipe each falling tear.
Art thou a penitent sincere?
My promise, Sinner, sets thee free.—
—Then humbly hope; thy title's clear;
The great atonement was for thee.
Pen.
—Son of adversity, draw near,
And I will make thy heart rejoice,
And I will wipe each falling tear.
Art thou a penitent sincere?
My promise, Sinner, sets thee free.—
—Then humbly hope; thy title's clear;
The great atonement was for thee.
O Thou, before whose throne I kneel,
Accept, though late, repentance deep:
Remorse hath touch'd this heart of steel,
These stubborn eyes have learn'd to weep.
Cold death-like shiv'rings o'er me creep,
Strange phantoms swim before my sight;
One pang, and then the last, long sleep;
But morn succeeds a moonless night!
Bear me above, ye heav'nly choir,
To where yon sounds celestial ring!
Hark! 'tis an angel strikes the lyre,
A sinner reconcil'd to sing!
I mount on Hope's exulting wing,
What floods of glory meet my eyes!—
Att.
To where yon sounds celestial ring!
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A sinner reconcil'd to sing!
I mount on Hope's exulting wing,
What floods of glory meet my eyes!—
—'Tis past, and death hath lost his sting:
The Soul hath reach'd her native skies.
| The Modern Dunciad | |