To those whose thought can pierce beyond an hour! O thou! whate'er thou art, whose heart exults! Would'st thou I should congratulate thy fate? 310 I know thou would'st; thy pride demands it from me. Let thy pride pardon, what thy nature needs, The salutary censure of a friend. Thou happy wretch! by blindness thou art blest; By dotage dandled to perpetual smiles. Know, smiler! at thy peril art thou pleased; Thy pleasure is the promise of thy pain. Misfortune, like a creditor severe, But rises in demand for her delay; 319 She makes a scourge of past prosperity, To sting thee more, and double thy distress. Lorenzo, Fortune makes her court to thee, Thy fond heart dances, while the syren sings. Dear is thy welfare; think me not unkind; I would not damp, but to secure thy joys. Think not that fear is sacred to the storm: Stand on thy guard against the smiles of fate. Is Heaven tremendous in its frowns? Most sure; And in its favours formidable too: Its favours here are trials, not rewards; 330 A call to duty, not discharge from care; And should alarm us, full as much as woes; Awake us to their cause, and consequence; O'er our scann'd conduct give a jealous eye, And make us tremble, weigh'd with our desert; Awe nature's tumult, and chastise her joys, Lest, while we clasp, we kill them; nay, invert To worse than simple misery, their charms. Revolted joys, like foes in civil war, Like bosom friendships to resentment sour'd, 340 With rage envenom'd rise against our peace. Beware what earth calls happiness; beware All joys, but joys that never can expire. Who builds on less than an immortal base, Fond as he seems, condemns his joys to death. Mine died with thee, Philander![3] thy last sigh Dissolved the charm; the disenchanted earth Lost all her lustre. Where her glittering towers? Her golden mountains, where? all darken'd down To naked waste; a dreary vale of tears: 350 The great magician's dead! Thou poor, pale piece Of outcast earth, in darkness! what a change 352 From yesterday! Thy darling hope so near (Long-labour'd prize!), O how ambition flush'd Thy glowing cheek! ambition truly great, Of virtuous praise. Death's subtle seed within (Sly, treacherous miner!), working in the dark, Smiled at thy well-concerted scheme, and beckon'd The worm to riot on that rose so red, Unfaded ere it fell; one moment's prey! 360 Man's foresight is conditionally wise; Lorenzo![4] wisdom into folly turns Oft, the first instant, its idea fair To labouring thought is born. How dim our eye! The present moment terminates our sight; Clouds thick as those on doomsday, drown the next; We penetrate, we prophesy in vain. Time is dealt out by particles; and each,