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Rewards, that either would to Virtue bring
No joy, or be destructive of the thing:
How oft by thete at fixty are undone
The virtue's of a faint at twenty-one!

To whom can riches give repute, or trust, Content, or pleasure, but the good and just ? Judges and Senates have been bought for gold; Eteem and love were never to be old.

Oh fool, to think God hates the worthy mind,

The lover, and the love of human kind,
Whole life is healthful,& whofe confcienceclear,
Because he wants a thousand pounds a year.

37. An Elegy written in a Country Church-
Yard. Gray.

THE Curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds flowly o'er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darknels and to me.
Nowfadesthe glimm'ring landfcape on the fight,
And all the air a foleinn tilnefs holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his drony fight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the diftant folds;
Save that, from yonder ivy-mantied tow`r,

Perhaps in this neglected fpot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celeftial fi
Hands, that the rod of empire might havelwa
Cr wak'd to extacy the living lyre.
But knowledge to their eyes her ample page
Rich with the fpoils of Time, did ne'er un
Chill Penury reprefs'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the foul.
Full many a gem, of pureft ray ferene,

The dark untathoni'd caves of ocean bei

Full many a ticw'r is born to binth unfeen
And waite its fweetness on the defert air
Some village-Hampden that with dauntletsbi

The little tyrant of his fields withitocd; Some mute inglorious Milton here may reit SomeCromwell guiltlesof his country'sbl. Th' applaufe of lining fenates to comman The threats of pain and ruin to delpile, To fcatter plenty o'er a fmiling land, And read their hiftory in a nation's eyes. Their lotforbade: nor circumfcrib'd alone [ Their growing virtues, but their crimes c Forbade to wade through flaughter to a thre And shut the gates of mercy on mankind Tre Itrugging pongs of conicious truth to hi To quench the blues of ingenuous than Moleft her ancient folitary reign. Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incenfe kindled at the Mufe's flame Beneath thofe rugged elms,that yew-tree's fhade, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring Far from the madding crowd's ignoble ftrife Each in his narrow ceil for ever laid, [heap, Their fober withes never learn'd to itray; Along the cool fequefter'd vale of lite,

The moping owl de es to the Moon complain Of fuch, as wand'ring near her fecret bow'r,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet fleep. The breezycall of incenfe-breathing morn.[fhed, The fwallow twitting from the fraw-built The cock's fhrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more fhall route them from their lowlybed. For them no more the blazing earth fhall burn, Or buty housewife ply her evening care: Nor children run to lifp their fires return,

Or climb his knees the envied kifs to thare. Oft did the harveft to their fickle yield;

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke, How jocund did they drive their teams afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke;

Let not ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys, and deftiny obfcure; Nor gardeur hear with a dildainful fmile,

The fhort and fimple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow`r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await, alike, th' inevitable hour;

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to thefe the fault, If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raife. Where thro' the long-drawnie & fretted vault, The pealing anthem fivells the note of praife. Can ftoried urn, or animated bust,

Back to its manfion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the filent duft,

Or flatt'ry footh the dull cold ear of death?

They kept the noitelets tenor of their wa
Yet ev'n thefe bones from infult to protect,
Some trail memorial ftill erected nigh,
With uncouth rhimes and fhapelets fculpt
Impicres ti e paffing tribute of a figh. [deck
Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlette
The place of fame and elegy fupply: [u
And many a holy text around the itrews,

That teach the rufic moralift to die.
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleafing anxious being e'er refign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor call one longing, ling`ring look behin
On fome fond breaft the parting foul relies,

Some pious drops the clefing eye requires: Ev'n from the tomb, the voice of nature cries

Ev'n in our alhes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th`un honour'd de

Doft in thefe fines their artlefs tale relate;
If, chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit fhall inquire thy fate.
Haply fome hoary-headed fwain may fay,

"Oft have we feen him at the peep of daw
Brufhing with hafty feps the dews away,
To meet the fun upon the upland lawn ;
There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

That wreathes its old fantastic roots fo hig
His liftlefs length at noon-tide would he stretc
And pore upon the brook that bubbles by.

Ha

End by yond wood, now fmiling, as in fcorn, | At broad noon-day. Thefe,and a thousand more,
Mart ring his wayward fancies,he would rove;
Now droping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
Or craz'd with care, or crois'd in hopelefs love:
One mom I mifs'd him on the custom'd hill,
Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree:
Another came; nor yet befide the rill,

Horrid to tell, attentive wait; and, when
By Heav'n's command Death waves his ebon
Sudden rush forth to execute his purpose,[wand,
And fcatter defolation o'er the Earth.

Nor up the hwn, nor at the wood was he:
The er, at dirges due, in fad array, [borne:
Stathe church-yard path we faw him
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay,
Garden the ftone beneath yon aged thorn."

Of mis'ry wait, and mark their future prey; Ill-fated Man, for whom fuch various forms Ah! why, all-righteous Father, didit thou make This creature, Man? why wake th' unconscious To life and wretchednefs? O better far [duft Still had he flept in uncreated night, If this the lot of Being! Was it for this Thy breath divine kindled within his breaft The vital flame? For this was thy fair image Here refts his head upon the lap of earth, Stampt on his foul in godlike lineaments? A Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown; For this dominion giv'n him abfolute Far Scence frown'd not on his humble birth,O'er all thy works, only that he might reign

THE EPITAPH.

And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Lags was his bounty, and his foul fincere,
Hav't did a recompence as largely fend:
He gave to Mistry all he had, a tear; [a friend.
He'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wifh'd)
Barber feck his merits to difclofe,

his frailties from their dread abode,
(Then they alike in trembling hope repose)
The aim of his Father and his God.

Death. Dr. Porteus, Bp. of London.
Fas to the wretch whom every friend
Norikes,

I was rare, Death! In fancy's fairy paths
Let the gyngfter rove, and gently trill
Tran of empty joy. Life and its joys
tahole that prize them. At this hour,
Tour, when filence rules the world,
And weared nature makes a gen'ral paufe;
Wart get's fable robe, through cloyfters
And rele, tenanted by a throng [drear
O phantoms fhooting crofs my path

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glance, I feck the fhadowy vale
C. De Deep in a murky cave's recefs,"
Olivion's liftlefs ftream, and fenc'd
Beng rocks, and intermingled horrors

cyprefs fhade, from all intrufion
noontide beam, the Monarch fits

ntial majefty enthron'd. at hand, nearest himself in place Afuinefs of form, his parent Sin industry and cruel care

Supreme in woe? From the bleft fource of Good,
Could Pain and Deathproceed?Couldfuch foul ills
Fall from fairMercy's hands? Far be the thought,
The impious thought! God never made a creature
But what was good. He made a living Soul ;
The wretched Mortal was the work of Man.
Forth from his Maker's hands he fprung to life,
Fresh with immortal bloom; no pain he knew,
No fear of change, no check to his delires, [ftood
Save one command. That one command,which
'Twixt him and Death, the teft of his obedience,
He broke. There in one moment was undone
Urg'd on by wanton curiosity,
The faireft of God's works. The fame rash hand,
That pluck'd in evil hour the fatal fruit,
Unbarr'd the gates of Hell, and let loofe Sin
To prey upon Mankind. Young Nature faw
And Death, and all the family of Pain,
The monftrouscrew,and hookthro'allherframe.
Heaven's cheerful face to low'r, then vapours
Then fled her new-born luftre, then began

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The troubled air, and form'd a veil of clouds To hide the willing Sun. The earth convuls'd Of thorns and briars; and Infect, Bird,and Beaft, With painful throes threw forth a briftly crop That wont before with admiration fond To gaze at Man, and fearless crowd around him, Now fled before his face, fhunning in hafte Th'infection of his mifery. He alone Who justly might, th' offended Lord of Man, Turn'd not away his face; he, full of pity, Forfook not in this uttermott diftrefs His beft lov'dwork. That comfort ftill remain'd (That beit, that greatest comfort in affliction) The countenance of God, and thro' the gloom Th'offender'sfinking foul.Hopefentfrom Heav'n Shot forth fome kindly gleams,to cheerandwarm Uprais'd his drooping head, and fhew'd afar A happier scene of things; the Promis'd Seed Con wan; Palfy, half warm with life, Death of his fting difarm'd; and the dark grave, Trampling upon the Serpent's humbled creft: Aday-clod lump; joint-tort'ring Gout, Made pervious to the realms of endless day, Aleve qawing Rheum, Convulfion wild; No more the limit out the gate of life. [ground Diply: panting Afthma; Apoplex

fin pointing all his strings, g every fhaft with venom drawn Enfernal ftore; around him rang'd array, and mixture ftrange hfhapes, ftand his dread Minifters. Old Age, his natural ally A friend: next him Diseases thick, Astry train; Fever, with cheek of fire;

F'd. There too the Peftilence that walks From whence he rofe; fentenc'd indeed to toil
Cheer'd with the view, Man went to till the
Indane, and the Sickness that deftroys
As to a punishment, yet (ev'n in wrath,

Yet still they breathe deftruction, ftill go on Inhumanly ingenious to find out New pains for life, new terrors for the grave, de-Artificers of Death! Still Monarchs dream Of univerfal empire growing up From univerfal ruin. Blaft the defign Great God of Hofts, nor let thy creatures fal Unpitied victims at Ambition's fhrine!

So merciful is Heav'n) this toil became
The folace of his woes, the fweet employ
Of many a live-long hour, and fureft guard
Againit Difeafe and Death. Death, tho'
Was yet a diftant ill, by feeble arm [nounc'd
Of Age, his fole fupport, led flowly on.
Not then, as fince the thort-liv'd fons of men
Flock'd to his realms in countless multitudes;
Scarce in the courfe of twice five hundred years,
One folitary gloft went fhiv'ring down
To his unpeopled fhore. In fober ftate,
Through the fequefter'd vale of rural life,
The venerable Patriarch guilel:ss held
The teacur of his way; Labour prepar'd
His fimple fare, and Temperance rul'd his board.
Tir'd with his daily toil, at early eve
He funk to fudden reft; gentle and pure
As breath of evening Zephyr, and as sweet,
Were all his flumbers; with the Sun he rose,
Alert and vigorous as He, to run

[ftrength
His deftin'd courfe. Thus nerv'd with giant
He ftemm'd the tide of time, and ftood the thock
Of ages rolling harmlefs o'er his head.
At life's meridian point arriv'd, he stood,
And, looking round faw all the valleys fill'd
With nations from his loins; full-weil content
To leave his race thus fcatter'd o'er the earth,
Along the gentle flope of life's decline
He bent his gradual way, till, full of years,
He dropp'd like mellow fruit into his grave,
Such in the infancy of Time was Man;
So calm was life, fo impotent was Death!
O had he but preferv'd thefe few remains,
The fhatter'd fragments, of loft happiness,
Snatch'd bythehandot Heav'n from thefad wreck
Of innocence primæval; still had he liv'd
In ruin great; tho' fall'n, yet not forlorn;
Though mortal, yet not every where befet
With Death in every fhape! But he, impatient
To be completely wretched, haftes to fill up
The menfure of his woes. Twas Man himfelf
Brought Death into theworld; and Man himself
Gave keene's to his darts, quicken'd his pace,
And multiply'd deftruction on mankind.

First Envy, eldest born of Hell, embrued Her hands in blood, and taught the Sons of Men To make a Death which Nature never made, And God abhorr`d; with violence rude to break The thread of life ere half its length was run, And rob a wretched brother of his being. With joy Ambition faw, and foon improv'd The execrable deed. 'Twas not enough By fubtle fraud to fnatch a fingle life, Puny impiety! whole kingdoms fell To fate the luft of power: more horrid still, The fouleft itain and fcandal of our nature, Became its boaft. One Murder made a Villain; Millions a Hero. Princes were privileg'd To kill, and numbers fanctified the crime. Ah! why will Kings forget that they are Men And Men that they are brethren? Why delight In human facrifice? Why burft the ties Of Nature, that should knit their fouls together In one foft bond of amity and love?

Yet fay, fhould Tyrants learn at laft to feel And the loud din of battle ceafe to bray; Should dove-eyed Peace o'er all the earth exten Her olive-branch, and give the world repose, Would Death be foil'd? Would health, an ftrength, and youth

Defy his pow'r? Has he no arts in ftore,
No other fhafts fave thofe of War? Alas!
Ev'n in the smile of Peace, that fmile which thed
A heav'nly funfhine o'er the foul, there bafks
That ferpent Luxury. War its thousand flays
Peace its ten thousands. In th' embattled plain
Tho' Death exults, and claps his raven wings,
Yet reigns he not ev'n there fo abfolute,
So mercilefs, as in yon frantic scenes
Of midnight revel and tumultuous mirth,
Where in th' intoxicating draught conceal'd,
Or couch'd beneath the glance of lawless love
Hefnaresthefimpleyouth,whonoughtfufpecting
Mcans to be bleft-but finds himself undone.

Down thefmoothftream of life theftriplingdarts
Gay as the morn, bright glows the vernal ky
Hope fwells his fails,and paffion fteers his courfe
Safe glides his little bark along the thore
Where virtue takes her ftand; but if too far
He launches forth beyond difcretion's mark,
Sudden the tempeft fcowls, the furges roar,
Blot his fair day, and plunge him in the deep,
O fad but fure mifchance! O happier far
To lie like gallant Howe 'midit Indian wilds
A breathlefs corfe, cut off by favage hands
In earlieft prime, a generous facrifice
To freedom's holy caufe; than fo to fall,
Torn immature from life's meridian joys,
A prey to Vice, Intemp'rance, and Difeafe.

Yet die ev'n thus, thus rather perith fill,
Ye fons of Pleasure, by th' Almighty ftrick'n,
Than ever dare (though oft, alas! ye dare)
To lift against yourselves the murd rous fteel,
To wreft from God's own hand the sword of
Juftice,

And be your own avengers! Hold, rath Man,
Though with anticipating speed thou 'ft rang'd
Through every region of delight, nor left
One joy to gild the evening of thy days;
Though life feem one uncomfortable void,
Guilt at thy heels, before thy face defpair;
Yet gay this feene, and light this load of woe,
Compar'd with thy hereafter. Think, O think,
And, ere thou plunge into the vast aby is,
Paufe on the verge a while: look down and fee
Thy future manfion. Why that fart of horror?
From thy flack hand why drops th' uplifted fice??
Didit thou not think fuch vengeance muft await
The wretch, that with his crimes all fresh about
Rufhes irreverent, unprepar'd, uncall'd, [him

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The Maker's prefence, throwing back
Went didain his choiceft gift?
Lutawale Heav'n in pity lends thee life,
Ark all too fhort to wash away,
By per tertial tears and deep contrition,
set of thy crimes. So fhalt thou find
thy foul; fo unappall'd shall meet
Death when he comes, not wantonly invite
Hangar froke. Be it thy fole concern
Wace to live: with patience wait
Thour, toofoon that hour will come,
Thamber courfe. But Nature's God,
edure, by thoufand various ways,
Whethal can horten that short span,
Ach the lamp of life. O when he comes,
Rey the cry of wickedness extreme,
Tercending from fome guilty land,
Newear vengeance; when he comes array'd
In all the terrors of Almighty wrath,

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For his boom plucks his ling ring arm,
And on the mikreants pours deftruction down;
Wave his coming? Who can bear
Enerpleasure? In no common form
pears, but starting into fize
Aratures with gigantic ftride
The Earth, and from his looks throws
Terror and difinay. [round,
Aziends her aid, each Element
Afe. Ope fly the doors of Heav'n;
Tas of the deep their barriers break;
Abw, the rival torrents pour,
And town Creation: or in floods of fire

If my own mother Earth, from whence I fprung,
Rife up with rage unnatural to devour
Her wretched offspring, whither fhall I fly?
Where look for fuccour? Where, but up to thes,
Almighty Father? Save, O fave, thy fuppliant
From horrors fuch as thefe! At thy good time
Letdeathapproach; 1 reck not-let him but come
In genuine form, not with thy vengeancearm'd,
Too much for man to bear. O rather lend
Thy kindly aid to mitigate his ftroke;
And at that hour when all aghaft I stand
(A trembling candidate for thy compaffiou)
On this World's brink, and look into the next;
When my foul, ftarting from the dark unknown,
Cafts back a wishful look, and fondly clings
To her frail prop, unwilling to be wrench'd
From this fair fcene, from all her custom'd joys,
And all the lovely relatives of life;
Then fhed thy comforts o'er me, then put on
The gentleft of thy looks. Let no dark crimes,
In all their hideous forms then starting up,
Plant themselves round my couch in grim array,
And ftab my bleeding heart with two-edg'd

torture,

Senfe of paft guilt, and dread of future woe.
Far be the ghaftly crew! And in their stead
Let cheerful Memory from her pureft cells
Lead forth a goodly train of Virtues fair,
Cherifh'd in earlieít youth, now paying back
With tenfold ufury the pious care,

And pouring o'er my wounds the heav'nlybalm
Of confcious innocence. But chiefly, Thou,
David cataract, and confumes [peace, Whom foft-eyed Pityonce led down from! leav'n
As nace. Sometimes, when all feems To bleed for man, to teach him how to live,
Wanwhirlwind,andwithrudeembrace And, oh! ftill harder leffon! how to die;
Says to their grave, or in the deep
Woud wooden world; full many a
Fatry bier, or lies unwept [youth
Gaudeart fhore! At dead of night,
Ite falks forth Pestilence:
Ce behind taints all her fteps
W dew; no fmiting hand is feen,
beard, but foon her fecret path
kwh defolation; heaps on heaps

drop. No friend, no refuge, near; Ale and treacherous around;

touch,or taste,or breathe, is Death. Bat meansthat ruinousroar? why fail ng feet? Earth to it's centre feels faced power, and tremblingat his touch its pillars, and in ev'ry pore, ound, with one convulfive heave, Promes, and towns, and tow'rs, vages. Crush'd beneath the weight tation, millions find agrave; not ev'n a widow left Twins: the houfe, that should protect, after; and the faithlefs plain, fies for help, with fudden yawn eneath him. Shield me, gracious ha

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Difdain not Thou to smooth the restless bed
Of Sickness and of Pain Forgive the tear
That feeble Nature drops, calm all her fears,
Wake all her hopes, and animate her faith,
Till my rapt Soul, anticipating Heav'n,
Burfts from the thraldom of incumb'ring clay,
And on the wing of Ecftafy upborne,
Springs into Liberty, and Light, and Life.

§ 39. The Grave. Blair.
"The house appointed for all living." JCB.
WHILST fome affect the fun, and fome the
fhade,

Some flee the city, fome the hermitage,
Their aims as various as the roads they take
In journeying through life; the task be mine
To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb;
Th' appointed place of rendezvous, where all
Thefe trav'llers meet. Thy fuccours I implore,
Eternal King, whose potent arm sustains
The keys of hell and death. The Grave, dread
thing!

Men fhiver when thou'rt nam'd: Nature appall'd
Shakes off her wonted firmness. Ah! how dark
Thy long-extended realms, and rueful wastes;
Where nought but filence reigns,and night,dark
Globe, which thine own hand hath Dark as was Chaos ere the infant Sun [night,
dare, if this my fteps betray ;[made Was roll'd together, or had tried its beams

Ofte from deftruction! If this Globe,

&

Athwart

26

Athwart the gloon profound! The fickly taper, | Prone on the lonely grave of the dear man
Book
By glimm'ring thro'thy low-brow'd miftyvaults, She drops; whilft bufy meddling Memory,
Furr'd round with mouldy damps,and ropyflime, In barbarous fucceffion, musters up
Lets fall a fupernumerary horror,
And only ferves to make thy night more irkfome.
Well do I know thee by thy trufty yew,
Cheerlefs, unfocial plant! That loves to dwell
'Midft fculls and coffins, epitaphs and worms;
Where light-heel'd ghosts and visionary fhades,
Beneath the wan cold moon (as fame reports)
Embodied thick, perform their mystic rounds.
No other merriment, dull tree! is thine."

Tenacious of its theme. Still, ftill the thin
The past endearments of their fofter hours,
Clings yet more clofely to the fenfelefs turi
She fees him, and, indulging the fond thoug
Nor heeds the paffenger who looks that way

Whom love has knit, and fympathy made on
Invidious Grave! how doft thou rend infun
A tie more stubborn far than nature's band
Friendship! myfterious cement of the foul!
Sweet'ner of life, and folder of society!

See yonder hallow'd fane! the pious work
Of names once fam'd, now dubious or forgot,I owe thee much. Thou haft deferv'd from r
And buried 'miditthewreck of things which were:
There lie interr'd the more illuftrious dead.
The wind is up: hark! how it howls! Methinks
Till now, I never heard a found so dreary: [bird
Doors creak, and windows clap, and night's foul
Rook'd in the fpire fcreams loud; the gloomyaifles
`Black plafter'd, and hung round with fhreds of
fcutcheons,

And tatter'd coats of arms, fend back the found
Laden with heavier airs, from the low vaults,
The manfions of the dead. Rous'd from their
In grim array the grifly spectres rife, [flumbers,
Grin horrible, and obftinately fullen

tree.

Pafs and repafs, hufh'd as the foot of night.
Again!thefcreech-owlfhrieks: ungraciousfound!
I'll hear no more; it makes one's blood run chil!.
Quite round the pile, a row of rev'rend elms,
Coæval near with that, all ragged fhew, [down
Long lath'd by the rude winds: fome rift half
Their branchless trunks; others fo thin a-top,
That fcarce two crows could lodge in the fame
Strange things, the neighbours fay, have hap-
[pen'd here:
Wild thrieks have iflued from the hollow tombs,
Dead men have come again, and walk'd about;
And the great bell has toll'd, unrung, untouch'd.
Such tales their cheer, at wake or goffipping.
When it draws near to witching time of night.
Oft in the lone church-yard at night I've feen,
By glimpfe of moonshine, cheq'ring thro' the
trees,

The fchool-boy, with his fatchel in his hand,
Whistling aloud to bear his courage up,
And lightly tripping o'er the long flat itones
(With nettles fkirted,and with mofs o'ergrown)
That tell in homely phrafe who lie below;
Sudden he starts! and hears, or thinks he hears,
The found of fomething purring at his heels,
Full faft he flies, and dares not look behind him,
Till out of breath he overtakes his fellows;
Who gather round, and wonder at the tale
Of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly,
That walks at dead of night, or takes his ftand
O'er fome new-open'd grave; and, ftrange to tell!
Evanishes at crowing of the cock.

The new made widowtoo I've fometimes fpied,
Sad fight? flow moving o'er the proftrate dead:
Litlefs, the crawls along in doleful black,
While burfts of forrow gufh from either eye,
Fat-falling down her now untafted cheek.

Far, far beyond what I can ever pay.
And the warm efforts of the gentle heart
Oft have I prov'd the labours of thy love,
Anxious to please. O! when my friend an
In fome thick wood have wandered heedless
Hid from the vulgar eye, and fet us down
Upon the floping cowflip-cover'd bank,
In grateful errors tho' the underwood [thru
Where the pure limpid ftream has flid along.
Sweet murm'ring, methought, the thrill-tongu
Mended his fong of love; the footy blackbir
Mellow'd his pipe, and foften'd every note;
The eglantine fmell'd fweeter, and the rofe
Vied with his fellow-plant in luxury
Aflum'd a dye more deep; whilft ev'ry flow
Of drefs. Oh! then the longest fummer's d
Seem'd too, too much in hafte; still the full hea
Had not imparted half: 'twas happiness
Too exquifite to last. Of joys departed,
Not to return, how painful the remembrance
Dull Grave! thou fpoil'ft the dance of yout

Strik'it out the dimple from the cheek of mirt
ful blood,
And ev'ry fmirking feature from the face;
Branding our laughter with the nameof madne
Where are the jelters now? the man of healt
Complexionally pleasant? where the droll?
Whofe ev'ry look and gefture was a joke
To clapping theatres and fhouting crowds,
And made ev'n thick-lipp'd mufing Melanchol
To gather up her face into a fmile

Before the was aware? Ah! fullen now,
And dumb as the green turf that covers then

The Roman Cæfars and the Grecian chiefs,
Where are the mighty thunderbolts of war
Who the tiara at his pleasure tore
The boast of ftory? Where thehot-brain'd youth
And cried, forfooth, because his arm was ham
From kings of all the then discover'd globe;
And had notroom enough to do itswork? [perc
Alas! how flim, difhonourably flim!
Proud royalty! how alter'd in thy looks!
And cramm'd into a space we blush to name.
How blank thy features, and how wan thy hue
Where haft thou hid thy many-fpangled head,
Son of the morning! whither art thou gone?
And the majestic menace of thine eyes
Felt from afar? Pliant and powerless now,
Like new-born infant bound up in his fwathes
Or victim tumbled flat upon his back.

That

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