3-101-432 - "Royal Academy of Arts, London"/Heritage Images

Pluck'd from the wing of human vanity, 1797. '...Which makes us stoop from our aërial heights, And, damp'd with omen of our own decease, On drooping pinions of ambition lower'd, Just skim earth's surface, ere we break it up, O'er putrid earth to scratch a little dust, And save the world a nuisance: smitten friends Are angels sent on errands full of love: For us they languish, and for us they die: And shall they languish, shall they die, in vain? Ungrateful, shall we grieve their hovering shades, Which wait the revolution in our hearts? Shall we disdain their silent soft address; Their posthumous advice, and pious prayer? Senseless, as herds that graze their hallow'd graves, Tread under foot their agonies and groans; Frustrate their anguish, and destroy their deaths? Lorenzo! no; the thought of death indulge; Give it its wholesome empire! let it reign, That kind chastiser of thy soul in joy! Its reign will spread thy glorious conquests far, And still the tumults of thy ruffled breast: Auspicious era! golden days, begin! The thought of death shall, like a god, inspire. And why not think on death? Is life the theme Of every thought?...' From "The Complaint, And The Consolation; Or, Night Thoughts", By Edward Young, LL.D. - [Richard Edwards, London: 1797] page 55.