That thirst unquench'd declares it is not here. 613 My Lucia, thy Clarissa call to thought; Why cordial friendship riveted so deep, As hearts to pierce at first, at parting, rend, If friend, and friendship, vanish in an hour? Is not this torment in the mask of joy? Why by reflection marr'd the joys of sense? Why past, and future, preying on our hearts, 620 And putting all our present joys to death? Why labours Reason? Instinct were as well; Instinct far better; what can choose, can err: O how infallible the thoughtless brute! 'Twere well his Holiness were half as sure. Reason with inclination, why at war? Why sense of guilt? why Conscience up in arms?" Conscience of guilt, is prophecy of pain, And bosom-council to decline the blow. Reason with inclination ne'er had jarr'd, 630 If nothing future paid forbearance here: Thus on--these, and a thousand pleas uncall'd, All promise, some insure, a second scene; Which, were it doubtful, would be dearer far Than all things else most certain; were it false, What truth on earth so precious as the lie? This world it gives us, let what will ensue; This world it gives, in that high cordial, hope: The future of the present is the soul. How this life groans, when sever'd from the next! 640 Poor mutilated wretch, that disbelieves! By dark distrust his being cut in two, In both parts perishes; life void of joy, Sad prelude of eternity in pain! Couldst thou persuade me, the next life could fail Our ardent wishes; how should I pour out My bleeding heart in anguish, new, as deep! Oh! with what thoughts, thy hope, and my despair, Abhorr'd annihilation! blasts the soul, And wide extends the bounds of human woe! 650 Could I believe Lorenzo's system true, In this black channel would my ravings run: "Grief from the future borrow'd peace, erewhile. The future vanish'd! and the present pain'd! Strange import of unprecedented ill! Fall, how profound! Like Lucifer's, the fall! Unequal fate! his fall, without his guilt! From where fond Hope built her pavilion high, The gods among, hurl'd headlong, hurl'd at once To night! to nothing! darker still than night. 660 If 'twas a dream, why wake me, my worst foe, Lorenzo! boastful of the name of friend? O for delusion! O for error still! Could vengeance strike much stronger than to plant A thinking being in a world like this, Not over-rich before, now beggar'd quite; More cursed than at the fall?--The sun goes out! The thorns shoot up! What thorns in every thought! Why sense of better? It embitters worse. Why sense? why life? If but to sigh, then sink 670 To what I was! twice nothing! and much woe! Woe, from Heaven's bounties! woe from what was wont To flatter most, high intellectual powers.