"Ah! see, how Fear, / How Dread, distort the Face, and fix the Eye, / The pallid Eye, that Window of the Soul"
— Jones, Henry (1721-1770)
Author
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed for J. Robinson
Date
1754
Metaphor
"Ah! see, how Fear, / How Dread, distort the Face, and fix the Eye, / The pallid Eye, that Window of the Soul"
Metaphor in Context
The close contracted Span of human Life
Is dearly purchas'd by the Sons of Care;
Since Sickness, Disappointment, Pain, and Death,
A thousand vary'd unavoided Evils,
Prey hourly on the vexing Heart of Man,
Like Officers of Wrath, let loose by Pride,
To raise the rigid Tax on wretched Being;
A dreadful Int'rest, for a Sum so small!
Enough are these, alas, to gall and sting!
What need we then for fancy'd Evils seek,
To scare the Soul, and harrow up the Heart,
Already toss'd, and torn, and broken down
By Evils of its own Contrivance? Evils
Still adverse found, to Nature's wholesome Ways;
The Bane of ev'ry Bliss, and social Joy:
Ambition, with her Train; and Luxury,
With Custom link'd, with fell Corruption join'd,
Led up by Fashion in her frantic Dance,
Follow'd by Misery, Despair, and Death.
For Pity's Sake, forbear to haunt the World
With hideous Spectres, and fantastic Forms;
With harpy footed Furies, fearful Phantoms,
Everlasting Torments, and unquenched Fire.
O say, what horrid Scenes are these you draw!
What Portraits of th' Almighty! hence, away;
See Reason turns the Face aside, see Nature
Start at the monstrous Form! and cry aloud
Through all her Works, it is not like. Forbear,
Ye croaking Ministers of midnight Dreams,
Ye madding Trumpeters of false Report,
Forbear to pour your ghastly Images
On Truth, nor give just Providence the Lie.
What's a Church-Yard, what I pray? This horrid Goblin
Array'd in midnight Weeds by frantic Fancy
I' th' solemn Moon-struck Hour? a Bed prepar'd
For silent unperceiving Dust that once
To human Thought was wedded, vital Clay,
Divorc'd by Death to join the general Mother,
Divided far from its Companion dear,
Th' immortal Soul, that now above the Stars
Forgets this trampled Clod, and joins the Choirs
Of Bliss, 'tis gloomy all and solemn. Hark,
Was it the Clock that told the passing Hour,
And told it too at Midnight? when deep Silence
And hideous Darkness reign o'er half the World:
It was.--What then? it tells it too at Noon,
Amidst the Noise and Sunshine of that Hour,
The Clock that calls to Business or to Pleasure
The Sons of Avarice and sensual Joy.
What tragic Bustle when an Engine strikes!
Shall meer Negations, unsubstantial Shades,
Such Monsters form, to fright th' unthinking Crow
To Fancy tangible, to Terror real?
Let Monks, let Nurses put these Vizors on,
To startle Bigots and astonish Babes;
Reason scorns, and Common Sense defies 'em;
And who so weak to shudder at the Sound
Of yon departed Moment fled for ever!
Or with his sad foreboding Sighs keep Time
To each elapsing Sand that silent flows
From his exhausting Glass with breaking Heart:
"O wretched Avarice of Breath, to draw
"Fresh Air, or gaze upon the wearied Sun;
To tread the same unvary'd Round with Pain,
To eat, to drink, to sleep, to satisfy
Each sensual sordid Appetite, alas!
How oft have distant Prospects, verdant Views,
With all that Fortune's faithless flattering Mirror
To sanguine Pride presents and vain Self-Love,
How oft has cheated Hope complain'd, and sought
For Refuge in Despair? The Sense itself
Grows weary of the Toil, the beastly Toil,
And Reason oft repeats this Lesson learn'd
From Pain, 'tis Time to die; and what is Time
Itself! this awful Sire of Births prodigious;
The Creature of the Mind, no more: the Vassal
Of Thought, whose very Being is the Soul
Made short or long, as that is more or less
Employ'd.--Good Heav'n and Earth, what horrid Noise!
What Stir, about a Reptile's poor Concerns!
And when a Worm expires, shall Nature, say
Shall suffering Nature sympathize with me?
Re-eccho Groan for Groan? so Pride asserts;
O, monstrous Pride! made drunk by Fancy at
Ambition's Feast. Shall yonder Sun be hid,
Fierce Ætna flame, and Thunder shake the Poles,
Because, forsooth, some Spring eccentric moves
Within this frail Machine? and Passion sways
The Soul, for this the universal Flood
Broke loose beyond its stated Bounds; for this!
The Mountains melt, the Comets glare; for this!
Shall Famine, Pestilence, and War devour?
But, hark! th' infernal Forge begins to roar,
The Sounds of Sorrow, and the Yells of Pain,
Now tear the Shop of Death, and reach my Sense:
The Flames ascend, the Furies howl, and all
The Stygian Eccho's ring a Peal; a Peal so loud
That shakes the North of Hell, and makes the Throne
Of Terror start. O whence this fierce Uproar!
This strong Convulsion in the Realms of Woe!
Behold yon Reptile gasping in the Arms,
Th' inexorable Arms of Death; how pale!
How ghastly are its Looks! Ah! see, how Fear,
How Dread, distort the Face, and fix the Eye,
The pallid Eye, that Window of the Soul,
The parting Soul, that Spark of Entity,
Which now stands shiv'ring on the Verge of Life,
And views th' imaginary Gulph beneath!
What Horrors! O, what Anguish, must she taste,
Whilst yet her Faculties are left entire;
Whilst yet, she views the gaping Fiends and Flames!
O say, can human Thought, can Words express,
What Nature feels in that tremendous Hour?
What Pangs, what Spasms, twisting too and fro
With irritated Force, convulsive, tug
The rooted Fibres, and the Springs of Life!
By Horrors heighten'd, and distemper'd Fumes,
That rack the Mind, and tear the tortur'd Frame;
Till the crack'd Heart, subdu'd at length, forgets
To pant; and Death, in Mercy, ends the Fray:
Nor only then, when near th' expiring Gasp,
(Tho' then, each Moment counterweighs an Age)
Not only then, but through the goaded Length
Of harrass'd Life, we drag the burden'd Weight
Of slavish Fear, impos'd on Childhood's Thought,
By Ignorance, made grey in gainful Error,
And credulous Design; who sit enthron'd,
Like Tyrants of an antient Race, to plead
Prescription's Right, and rule the passive Soul.
Can then a gracious God be said to call
From forth the vacant unexisting Blank,
A Race of Creatures capable of Joy,
Enrich'd with Thought, and warm with fierce Desire;
With delicate Sensations cover'd o'er,
And nice Perception, prompt to gratify
Th' implanted Impulse, and the vig'rous Call?
When Nature makes her strong, her just Demand;
When Passion rises at the loud Alarm;
Led up by Reason to the genial Task;
By Reason guided to the wise Retreat.
Can Justice punish what herself decrees,
And make Obedience to her Laws a Crime?
Justice is Nature in her social Dress;
And social Virtue is the Voice of Heav'n.
Shall arbitrary Cobwebs skreen this Truth,
With positive dogmatical Behests;
And give yon blazing Sun the Lye? Awake,
Unhood-wink'd Man, and cast abroad thy Eyes;
Behold all Nature in one gen'rous Strife,
The War of Amity, and Discord sweet;
The Strife of strong Benevolence, behold,
The universal Agents all at work,
From diff'rent Quarters, with contending Pow'rs;
In hostile Harmony, to propagate
One glorious and eternal Good to Man:
To Beasts, to Fish, to Fowl; to Plants, perhaps;--
To all that feel th' informing Touch of Good,
With grateful Energy their Texture strike,
And send the gladsome Tiding to the Soul.
See Nature, in her various Stile, express
The thankful Tribute of incessant Praise,
From lifeless Matter, to the sprouting Blade
Of humble Grass, upon the liv'ry'd Lawn;
From trodden Daisies, to the Plant of Jove.
Is dearly purchas'd by the Sons of Care;
Since Sickness, Disappointment, Pain, and Death,
A thousand vary'd unavoided Evils,
Prey hourly on the vexing Heart of Man,
Like Officers of Wrath, let loose by Pride,
To raise the rigid Tax on wretched Being;
A dreadful Int'rest, for a Sum so small!
Enough are these, alas, to gall and sting!
What need we then for fancy'd Evils seek,
To scare the Soul, and harrow up the Heart,
Already toss'd, and torn, and broken down
By Evils of its own Contrivance? Evils
Still adverse found, to Nature's wholesome Ways;
The Bane of ev'ry Bliss, and social Joy:
Ambition, with her Train; and Luxury,
With Custom link'd, with fell Corruption join'd,
Led up by Fashion in her frantic Dance,
Follow'd by Misery, Despair, and Death.
For Pity's Sake, forbear to haunt the World
With hideous Spectres, and fantastic Forms;
With harpy footed Furies, fearful Phantoms,
Everlasting Torments, and unquenched Fire.
O say, what horrid Scenes are these you draw!
What Portraits of th' Almighty! hence, away;
See Reason turns the Face aside, see Nature
Start at the monstrous Form! and cry aloud
Through all her Works, it is not like. Forbear,
Ye croaking Ministers of midnight Dreams,
Ye madding Trumpeters of false Report,
Forbear to pour your ghastly Images
On Truth, nor give just Providence the Lie.
What's a Church-Yard, what I pray? This horrid Goblin
Array'd in midnight Weeds by frantic Fancy
I' th' solemn Moon-struck Hour? a Bed prepar'd
For silent unperceiving Dust that once
To human Thought was wedded, vital Clay,
Divorc'd by Death to join the general Mother,
Divided far from its Companion dear,
Th' immortal Soul, that now above the Stars
Forgets this trampled Clod, and joins the Choirs
Of Bliss, 'tis gloomy all and solemn. Hark,
Was it the Clock that told the passing Hour,
And told it too at Midnight? when deep Silence
And hideous Darkness reign o'er half the World:
It was.--What then? it tells it too at Noon,
Amidst the Noise and Sunshine of that Hour,
The Clock that calls to Business or to Pleasure
The Sons of Avarice and sensual Joy.
What tragic Bustle when an Engine strikes!
Shall meer Negations, unsubstantial Shades,
Such Monsters form, to fright th' unthinking Crow
To Fancy tangible, to Terror real?
Let Monks, let Nurses put these Vizors on,
To startle Bigots and astonish Babes;
Reason scorns, and Common Sense defies 'em;
And who so weak to shudder at the Sound
Of yon departed Moment fled for ever!
Or with his sad foreboding Sighs keep Time
To each elapsing Sand that silent flows
From his exhausting Glass with breaking Heart:
"O wretched Avarice of Breath, to draw
"Fresh Air, or gaze upon the wearied Sun;
To tread the same unvary'd Round with Pain,
To eat, to drink, to sleep, to satisfy
Each sensual sordid Appetite, alas!
How oft have distant Prospects, verdant Views,
With all that Fortune's faithless flattering Mirror
To sanguine Pride presents and vain Self-Love,
How oft has cheated Hope complain'd, and sought
For Refuge in Despair? The Sense itself
Grows weary of the Toil, the beastly Toil,
And Reason oft repeats this Lesson learn'd
From Pain, 'tis Time to die; and what is Time
Itself! this awful Sire of Births prodigious;
The Creature of the Mind, no more: the Vassal
Of Thought, whose very Being is the Soul
Made short or long, as that is more or less
Employ'd.--Good Heav'n and Earth, what horrid Noise!
What Stir, about a Reptile's poor Concerns!
And when a Worm expires, shall Nature, say
Shall suffering Nature sympathize with me?
Re-eccho Groan for Groan? so Pride asserts;
O, monstrous Pride! made drunk by Fancy at
Ambition's Feast. Shall yonder Sun be hid,
Fierce Ætna flame, and Thunder shake the Poles,
Because, forsooth, some Spring eccentric moves
Within this frail Machine? and Passion sways
The Soul, for this the universal Flood
Broke loose beyond its stated Bounds; for this!
The Mountains melt, the Comets glare; for this!
Shall Famine, Pestilence, and War devour?
But, hark! th' infernal Forge begins to roar,
The Sounds of Sorrow, and the Yells of Pain,
Now tear the Shop of Death, and reach my Sense:
The Flames ascend, the Furies howl, and all
The Stygian Eccho's ring a Peal; a Peal so loud
That shakes the North of Hell, and makes the Throne
Of Terror start. O whence this fierce Uproar!
This strong Convulsion in the Realms of Woe!
Behold yon Reptile gasping in the Arms,
Th' inexorable Arms of Death; how pale!
How ghastly are its Looks! Ah! see, how Fear,
How Dread, distort the Face, and fix the Eye,
The pallid Eye, that Window of the Soul,
The parting Soul, that Spark of Entity,
Which now stands shiv'ring on the Verge of Life,
And views th' imaginary Gulph beneath!
What Horrors! O, what Anguish, must she taste,
Whilst yet her Faculties are left entire;
Whilst yet, she views the gaping Fiends and Flames!
O say, can human Thought, can Words express,
What Nature feels in that tremendous Hour?
What Pangs, what Spasms, twisting too and fro
With irritated Force, convulsive, tug
The rooted Fibres, and the Springs of Life!
By Horrors heighten'd, and distemper'd Fumes,
That rack the Mind, and tear the tortur'd Frame;
Till the crack'd Heart, subdu'd at length, forgets
To pant; and Death, in Mercy, ends the Fray:
Nor only then, when near th' expiring Gasp,
(Tho' then, each Moment counterweighs an Age)
Not only then, but through the goaded Length
Of harrass'd Life, we drag the burden'd Weight
Of slavish Fear, impos'd on Childhood's Thought,
By Ignorance, made grey in gainful Error,
And credulous Design; who sit enthron'd,
Like Tyrants of an antient Race, to plead
Prescription's Right, and rule the passive Soul.
Can then a gracious God be said to call
From forth the vacant unexisting Blank,
A Race of Creatures capable of Joy,
Enrich'd with Thought, and warm with fierce Desire;
With delicate Sensations cover'd o'er,
And nice Perception, prompt to gratify
Th' implanted Impulse, and the vig'rous Call?
When Nature makes her strong, her just Demand;
When Passion rises at the loud Alarm;
Led up by Reason to the genial Task;
By Reason guided to the wise Retreat.
Can Justice punish what herself decrees,
And make Obedience to her Laws a Crime?
Justice is Nature in her social Dress;
And social Virtue is the Voice of Heav'n.
Shall arbitrary Cobwebs skreen this Truth,
With positive dogmatical Behests;
And give yon blazing Sun the Lye? Awake,
Unhood-wink'd Man, and cast abroad thy Eyes;
Behold all Nature in one gen'rous Strife,
The War of Amity, and Discord sweet;
The Strife of strong Benevolence, behold,
The universal Agents all at work,
From diff'rent Quarters, with contending Pow'rs;
In hostile Harmony, to propagate
One glorious and eternal Good to Man:
To Beasts, to Fish, to Fowl; to Plants, perhaps;--
To all that feel th' informing Touch of Good,
With grateful Energy their Texture strike,
And send the gladsome Tiding to the Soul.
See Nature, in her various Stile, express
The thankful Tribute of incessant Praise,
From lifeless Matter, to the sprouting Blade
Of humble Grass, upon the liv'ry'd Lawn;
From trodden Daisies, to the Plant of Jove.
Categories
Provenance
Searching "soul" and "window" in HDIS (Poetry)
Citation
At least 3 entries in the ESTC (1754).
The Relief; or, Day Thoughts: A Poem. Occasioned by the Complaint, or Night Thoughts (London: Printed for J. Robinson, 1754).
The Relief; or, Day Thoughts: A Poem. Occasioned by the Complaint, or Night Thoughts (London: Printed for J. Robinson, 1754).
Date of Entry
01/25/2006
