And has all nature, then, espoused my part? Have I bribed heaven, and earth, to plead against thee? And is thy soul immortal?--What remains? All, all, Lorenzo!--Make immortal blest. Unblest immortals!--What can shock us more? And yet Lorenzo still affects the world; There stows his treasure; thence his title draws, Man of the world (for such would'st thou be call'd), And art thou proud of that inglorious style? Proud of reproach? for a reproach it was, 10 In ancient days; and Christian,--in an age, When men were men, and not ashamed of heaven, Fired their ambition, as it crown'd their joy. Sprinkled with dews from the Castalian font, Fain would I re-baptize thee, and confer A purer spirit, and a nobler name. Thy fond attachments, fatal, and inflamed, Point out my path, and dictate to my song: To thee, the world how fair! how strongly strikes Ambition! and gay pleasure stronger still! 20 Thy triple bane! the triple bolt that lays 21 Thy virtue dead! Be these my triple theme; Nor shall thy wit, or wisdom, be forgot. Common the theme; not so the song; if she My song invokes, Urania deigns to smile. The charm that chains us to the world, her foe, If she dissolves, the man of earth, at once, Starts from his trance, and sighs for other scenes; Scenes, where these sparks of night, these stars shall shine Unnumber'd suns (for all things, as they are, 30 The blest behold); and, in one glory, pour Their blended blaze on man's astonish'd sight; A blaze--the least illustrious object there. Lorenzo! since eternal is at hand, To swallow Time's ambitions; as the vast Leviathan, the bubbles vain, that ride High on the foaming billow; what avail High titles, high descent, attainments high, If unattain'd our highest? O Lorenzo! What lofty thoughts, these elements above, 40 What towering hopes, what sallies from the sun, What grand surveys of destiny divine, And pompous presage of unfathom'd fate, Should roll in bosoms, where a spirit burns, Bound for eternity! in bosoms read By Him, who foibles in archangels sees! On human hearts He bends a jealous eye, And marks, and in heaven's register enrols, The rise, and progress, of each option there; Sacred to doomsday! That the page unfolds, 50 And spreads us to the gaze of gods and men. And what an option, O Lorenzo, thine! This world! and this, unrivall'd by the skies! A world, where lust of pleasure, grandeur, gold, Three demons that divide its realms between them, 55 With strokes alternate buffet to and fro Man's restless heart, their sport, their flying ball; Till, with the giddy circle sick, and tired, It pants for peace, and drops into despair. Such is the world Lorenzo sets above