They flatter our fond hopes, and promise much Of amiable; but hold him not o'er-wise, 123 Who dares to trust them; and laugh round the year At still-confiding, still-confounded, man, Confiding, though confounded; hoping on, Untaught by trial, unconvinced by proof, And ever looking for the never seen. Life to the last, like harden'd felons, lies; Nor owns itself a cheat, till it expires. 130 Its little joys go out by one and one, And leave poor man, at length, in perfect night; Night darker, than what, now, involves the pole. O Thou, who dost permit these ills to fall, For gracious ends, and would'st that man should mourn! O Thou, whose hands this goodly fabric framed, Who know'st it best, and would'st that man should know! What is this sublunary world? A vapour; A vapour all it holds; itself, a vapour; From the damp bed of chaos, by Thy beam 140 Exhaled, ordain'd to swim its destined hour In ambient air, then melt, and disappear. Earth's days are number'd, nor remote her doom; As mortal, though less transient, than her sons; Yet they doat on her, as the world and they Were both eternal, solid; Thou, a dream. They doat!--on what? Immortal views apart, A region of outsides! a land of shadows! A fruitful field of flowery promises! A wilderness of joys! perplex'd with doubts, 150 And sharp with thorns! a troubled ocean, spread With bold adventurers, their all on board! No second hope, if here their fortune frowns; Frown soon it must. Of various rates they sail, Of ensigns various; all alike in this, All restless, anxious; toss'd with hopes, and fears, In calmest skies; obnoxious all to storm; 157 And stormy the most general blast of life: All bound for happiness; yet few provide The chart of knowledge, pointing where it lies; Or Virtue's helm, to shape the course design'd: All, more or less, capricious fate lament, Now lifted by the tide, and now resorb'd, 163 And farther from their wishes than before: All, more or less, against each other dash. To mutual hurt, by gusts of passion driven, And suffering more from folly, than from fate. Ocean! thou dreadful and tumultuous home Of dangers, at eternal war with man! Death's capital, where most he domineers, 170 With all his chosen terrors frowning round, (Though lately feasted high at Albion's cost,)[43] Wide-opening, and loud roaring still for more! Too faithful mirror! how dost thou reflect The melancholy face of human life! The strong resemblance tempts me farther still: And, haply, Britain may be deeper struck By moral truth, in such a mirror seen, Which Nature holds for ever at her eye. Self-flatter'd, unexperienced, high in hope, 180