(A Brief Fragment Of An Extensive Projected Poem.)

"I could be well content, allowed the use Of past experience, and the wisdom glean'd From worn-out follies, now acknowledged such, To recommence life's trial, in the hope Of fewer errors, on a second proof!" Thus, while grey evening lull'd the wind, and call'd Fresh odours from the shrubbery at my side, Taking my lonely winding walk, I mused, And held accustom'd conference with my heart; When from within it thus a voice replied: "Couldst thou in truth? and art thou taught at length This wisdom, and but this, from all the past? Is not the pardon of thy long arrear, Time wasted, violated laws, abuse Of talents, judgment, mercies, better far Than opportunity vouchsafed to err With less excuse, and, haply, worse effect?" I heard, and acquiesced: then to and fro Oft pacing, as the mariner his deck, My gravelly bounds, from self to human kind I pass'd, and next consider'd--what is man. Knows he his origin? can he ascend By reminiscence to his earliest date? Slept he in Adam? And in those from him Through numerous generations, till he found At length his destined moment to be born? Or was he not, till fashion'd in the womb? Deep mysteries both! which schoolmen must have toil'd To unriddle, and have left them mysteries still. It is an evil incident to man, And of the worst, that unexplored he leaves Truths useful and attainable with ease, To search forbidden deeps, where mystery lies Not to be solved, and useless if it might. Mysteries are food for angels; they digest With ease, and find them nutriment; but man, While yet he dwells below, must stoop to glean His manna from the ground, or starve and die.

May, 1791.