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Earth, trembling from her entrails, bears a part;
And the rent rock upbraids man's stubborn heart.
The yawning grave reveals his gloomy reign,
And the cold clay-clad dead start into life again.
And thou, O tomb, once more fhalt wide difplay
Thy fatiate jaws, and give up all thy prey.
Thou, groaning earth, thalt heave, abforptinflame,
As the laft pangs convulfe thy lab'ring frame;
When the fame God unthrouded thou shalt fee,
Wrapt in full blaze of power and majefty,
Ride on the clouds; whilft, as his chariot flies,
The bright effufion ftreams thro' all the fkies.
Then fhall the proud diffolving mountains glow,
And yielding rocks in fiery rivers flow :
The molten deluge round the globe shall roar,
And all man's arts and labour be no more.
Then fhall the fplendours of th' enliven'd glass
Sink undiftinguifh'd in the burning mafs.
And, oh! till earth, and feas, and heaven decav,
Ne'er may that fair creation fade away; [fpare,
May winds and ftorms those beauteous colours
Still may they bloom, as permanent as fair;
All the vain rage of wafting time repel,
And his tribunal fee, whofe Crofs they paint fo well.

§ 344.
On the Death of Frederic Prince of Wales.
Written at Paris, by DAVID LORD VISCOUNT
STORMONT, of Christ Church, Oxon.
LITTLE I whilom deem'd my artlefs zeal
Should woo the British Muse in foreign land
To strains of bitter argument, and teach
The mimic Nymph that haunts the winding verge
And oozy current of Parifian Seine,
To fyllable new founds in accents ftrange.

But fad occafion calls: who now forbears
The laft kind office who but confecrates
His off'ring at the fhrine of fair Renown
To gracious Frederic rais'd; tho' but compos'd
Of the wafte flow'rets, whofe neglected hues
Chequer the lonely hedge or mountain flope?
Where are thofe hopes, where fled th' illufive

That forgeful fancy plann'd, what time the bark
Stemm'd the falt wave from Albion's chalky bourn
Then filial Piety and parting Love [cliffs,
Pour'd the fond pray'r-" Farewel, ye lefs'ning
Fairer to me than aught in fabled fong
Or myftic record told of fhores Atlantic!
Favour'd of Heaven, farewel! imperial isle,
Native to nobleft wits, and beft approv'd
In manly fcience and advent'rous deed!
Celeftial Freedom, by rude hand eftrang'd
From regions once frequented, with Thee takes
Her stedfaft ftation, faft befide the throne
Of fceptred rule, and there her state maintains
In focial concord, and harmonious love.
Thefe bleffings ftill be thine, nor meddling fiend
Stir in your bufy ftrects foul Faction's roar;
Still thrive your growing works, and gales pro-

Vifit your fons who ride the wat'ry wafte;
And ftill be heard from forth your gladfome


Shrill tabor pipes, and ev'ry peaceful found.

"Nor vain the with, while George the golden scale

With steady prudence holds, and temp'rate fway.
And when his courfe of earthly honour's run,
With lenient hand fhall Frederic footh your care;
Rich in each princely quality, mature
In years, and happieft in nuptial choice.
Thence too arife new hopes; a playful troop
Circles his hearth, fweet pledges of that bed
Which Faith, and Joy, and thousand Virtues guard.
His be the care t' inform their ductile minds

With worthick thoughts, and point the ways of


How often fall he hear with fresh delight
Their earnest tales, or watch their rifing paffions
With timorous attention; then shall tell
Of juftice, fortitude, and public weal;
And oft the while each rigid precept smooth
With winning tokens of parental love!"

Thus my o'erweening heart the fecret stores
Of Britain's hope explor'd, while my ftrain'd fight
Purfued her fading hills, till wrapt in mift
They gently funk beneath the fwelling tide.
Nor flept thofe thoughts, whene'er in other clines
I mark'd the cruel wafte of foul oppreffion,
Saw nobleft fpirits, and goodlieft faculties,
To vaffalage and loathfome fervice bound.
Then confcious preference rofe; then northward
My eye to gratulate my natal foil.
How have I chid, with froward eagernefs,
Each veering blaft that from my hand withheld
The well-known characters of fome lov'd friend,
Tho' diftant not unmindful! Still I learn'd,
Delighted, what each patriot plan devis'd
Of arts or glory, or diffufive commerce.
Nor wanted its endearment ev'ry tale
Of lightest import. But, oh heavy change!
What notices come now? Distracted fceucs
Of helpless forrow, folemn fad accounts;
How fair Augufta watch'd the weary night,
Tending the bed of Anguifh; how great George
Wept with his infant progeny around;
How heav'd the orphan's and the widow's figh,
That follow'd Frederic to the filent tomb

For well was Frederic lov'd, and well deferv'd.
His voice was ever fweet, and on his fteps
Attended ever the alluring grace
Of gentle lowlinefs and focial zeal.
Him thall remember oft the labour'd hind,
Relating to his mates each cafual act
Of courteous bounty. Him th' artificer,
Plying the varied woof in fullen fadness,
Tho' wont to carol many a ditty fweet.
Soon too the mariner, who many moons
Has counted, beating ftill the foamy furge,
And treads at laft the wifh'd-for beach, shall stand
Appall'd at the fad tale, and foon shall steal
Down his rough cheek th' involuntary tear.

Be this our folace yet-all is not dead;
The bright memorial lives: for his example
Shall Hymen trim his torch, domestic praise
Be countenanc'd, and virtue fairer shew.
In age fucceeding, when another George,
To ratify fome weighty ordinance


Of Britain's peers conven'd, fhall pass befide
Thofe hallow'd fpires, whofe gloomy vaults in-

Shrouded in fleep, pale rows of fceptred kings,
Oft to his fenfe the sweet paternal voice
And long-remember'd features fhall return;
Then thall his generous breaft be new inflain'd
To acts of highest worth and highest fame.
Thefe plaintive ftrains, from Albion far away,

I lonely meditate at even tide;

Nor skill'd nor ftudious of the raptur'd lay;
But still rememb'ring oft the magic founds,
Well-meafur'd to the chime of Dorian lute,
Or paft'ral ftop, which erft I lov'd to hear
On Ifis' border'd mead, where dips by fits
The ftooping ofier in her hafty stream.

Hail, Wolfey's fpacious Done! hail, ever fan'd

For faithful nurture, and truth's facred lore,
Much honour'd parent! You my duteous zeal
Accept, if haply in thy laureat wreath
You deign to interweave this humble fong.

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Wit's feafon'd converfe, and the liberal flow
Of unfufpicious youth, profuse of foul,
Delight not ever; from the boisterous scene

Of riot far, and Comus' wild uproar,
From folly's crowd, whofe vacant brow ferene
Was never knit to wifdom's frowning lore,
Permit me, ye time-hallow'd domes, ye piles
Of rude magnificence, your folemn reft,
Amid your fretted vaults and length'ning aifles
Lonely to wander; no unholy guest
That means to break, with facrilegious tread,
The marble flumbers of your monumented dead.
Permit me, with fad mufings, that inspire

Unlabour'd numbers apt, your filence drear
Blameless to wake, and with the Orphean lyre,
Fitly attemper'd, footh the merciless ear
Of Hades, and ftern death, whofe iron fway

Great nature owns thro' all her wide domain;
All that with oary fin cleave their smooth way
Through the green bofom of the fpawny main;
And those that to the ftreaming æther fpread,

In many a wheeling glide, their feathery fail; And thofe that creep; and those that statelier tread, That roam o'er foreft, hill, or browfy dale; The victims each of ruthless fate must fall; E'en God's own image, man, high paramount of all.

And ye, the young, the giddy, and the gay,

That startle from the fleepful lid of light
The curtain'd reft, and with the diffonant bray
Of Bacchus, and loud jollity, affright
Yon radiant goddefs, that now fhoots among
Thefe many-window'd aifles her glimmering

Know, that or ere its starr'd career along

Thrice fhall have roll'd her filver-wheeled team,

Some parent breaft may heave the answering figh
To the flow paufes of the funeral knoll;
E'en now black Atropos, with fcowling eye,

Roars in the laugh, and revels o'er the bowl;
E'en now in rofy-crowned pleafure's wreath
Entwines in adder folds all-unfufpected Death.
Know, on the stealing wing of time fhall flce
Some few, fome fhort-liv'd years, and all is past;
A future bard thefe awful domes may fee,

Mufe o'er the prefent age, as I the laft;
Who mouldering in the grave, yet once like you
The various maze of life were feen to tread,
Each bent their own peculiar to pursue,

As cuftom urg'd, or wilful nature led:
Mix'd with the various crowd's inglorious clay,
No more to melt with beauty's heaven-born ray,
The nobler virtues undiftinguifh'd lie;

No more to wet compaffion's tearful eye,
Catch from the poet raptures not their own,
And feel the thrilling melody of sweet renown.
Where is the mafter-hand, whofe femblant art
Chisel'd the marble into life, or taught
From the well-pencil'd portraiture to start

The nerve that beat with foul, the brow that
Cold are the fingers that in stone-fixt trance
The mute attention riveting, to the lyre
Struck language: dimm'd the poet's quick-eyed

All in wild raptures flashing heaven's own fire.
Shrunk is the finew'd energy, that ftrung
The warrior arm. Where fleeps the patriot

Whilom that heav'd impaffion'd? where the

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These now are paft; long, long, ye fleeting years,
Purfue, with glory wing'd, your fated way,
Ere from the womb of time unwelcome peers
The dawn of that inevitable day,
When wrapt in shrouded clay their warmest friend
The widow'd virtues fhall again deplore,
When o'er his urn in pious grief fhall bend

His Britain, and bewail one patriot more;
For foon must thou, too soon! who spread'ft abroad
Thy beaming emanations unconfin'd,
Doom'd like fome better angel fent of God

To fcatter bleflings over humankind,
Thou too muft fall, O Pitt! to fhine no more,
And tread thefe dreadful paths a Faulkland trod

Faft to the driving winds the marshall'd clouds
Sweep difcontinuous o'er th' ethereal plain!
Another ftill upon another crowds;

All haftening downward to their native main.
Thus paffes o'er, thro' varied life's career,

Man's fleeting age; the Scafons, as they fly, Snatch from us in their courfe, year after year, Some fweet connection, fome endearing tie.

The parent, ever-honour'd, ever-dear,

Claims from the filial breast the pious figh; A brother's urn demands the kindred tear, And gentle forrows gufh from friendship's eye. To-day we frolic in the rofy bloom

Of jocund youth-the morrow knells us to the tomb.

Who knows how foon in this fepulchral spot
Shall Heaven to me the drear abode affign?
How foon the past irrevocable lot

Of thefe that reft beneath me, fhall be mine? Haply, when Zephyr to thy native bourn

Shall waft thee o'er the ftorm'd Hibernian wave, Thy gentle breast, my Tavistock, shall mourn To find me fleeping in the fenfeless grave. No more the focial leifure to divide,

In the fweet intercourfe of foul and foul, Blithe, or of graver brow; no more to chide

The ling'ring years impatient as they roll, Till all thy cultur'd virtues fhall difplay, Full-bloffom'd, their bright honours to the gazing day.

Ah, dearest youth thefe vows perhaps unheard The rude wind fcatters o'er the billowy main; Thefe prayers at friendship's holy fhrine preferr'd May rife to grafp their father's knees in vain. Soon, foon may nod the fad funereal plume

With folemn horror o'er thy timeless hearfe, And I furvive to grave upon thy tomb

The mournful tribute of memorial verfe. That leave to Heaven's decifion-be it thine, Higher than yet a parent's wishes flew, To foar in bright pre-eminence, and shine

With felf-carn'd honours, eager to purfue Where glory, with her clear unfullied rays, The well-born fpirit lights to deeds of nightieft praife.

'Twas the thy godlike Ruffel's bosom steel'd

With confidence untam'd, in his last breath Stern-fimiling. She, with calm compofure, held The patriot axe of Sidney, edg'd with death. Smit with the warmth of her impulfive flame, Wolf's gallant virtue flies to worlds afar, Emulous to pluck fresh wreaths of well-earn'd


From the grim frowning brow of laurel'd war. 'Twas the that, on the morn of direful birth,

Bar'd thy young bofom to the fatal blow, Lamented Armytage !-the bleeding youth! O bathe him in the pearly caves below, Ye Nereids! and ye Nvmphs of Camus hoar, Weep-for ye oft have seen him on your haunted thore.

Better to die with glory, than recline

On the foft lap of ignominious peace, Than yawn out the dull droning life fupine In monkih apathy and gowned eafe. Better employ'd in honour's bright career The leaft divifion on the dial's round, Than thrice to compafs Saturn's live-long year. Grown old in floth, the burthen of the ground,


Than tug with fweating toil the slavish oar
Of unredeem'd affliction, and sustain
The fev'rous rage of fierce difeafes fore

Unnumber'd, that in sympathetic chain
Hang ever thro' the thick circumfluous air,
All from the drizzly verge of yonder ftar-girt

Thick in the many-beaten road of life

A thousand maladies are posted round, With wretched man to wage eternal ftrife

Unfeen, like ambush'd Indians, till they wound, There the fwoln hydrop ftands, the wat'ry rheum, The northern fcurvy, blotch with lep'rous fcale; And moping ever in the cloifter'd gloom

Of learned floth, and bookish asthma pale: And the shunn'd hag unfightly, that (ordain'd On Europe's fons to wreak the faithlefs fword Of Cortez, with the blood of millions ftain'd) O'er dog-eyed luft the tort'ring fcourge abhorr'd

Shakes threat'ning, fince the while the wing'd her flight


Amazon's broad wave, and Andes' fnow. clad height.

Where the wan daughter of the yellow year,

The chatt'ring ague chill; the writhing ftone; And he of ghaftly feature, on whofe car Unheeded croaks the death-bird's warning

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With boiling fulphur fraught, and fmouldering He, the dread delegate of wrath divine, [fires: Ere while that flood o'er Taio's hundred spires Vindictive; thrice he wav'd th' earth-fhaking wand,

Powerful as that the fon of Amram bore, And thrice he rais'd, and thrice he check'd his hand.

He ftruck-the rocking ground, with thunderous roar, Yawn'd! Here from ftreet to ftreet hurries, and there

Now runs, now ftops, then thricks and fcours Staring diftraction: many a palace fair [amain, With millions finks ingulph'd, and pillar'd


Old Ocean's fartheft waves confefs the fhock; Even Albion trembled confcious on his ftedfaft rock.

✦ Alluding to the Earthquake at Lisbɔn, November 1, 1755,



The meagre famine there, and drunk with blood | No vain refearches e'er difturb their rest,
Stern war; and the loath'd monfter whom of yore No fears of dark futurity molest.
The flimy Naiad of the Memphian flood
Man, only Man, folicitous to know
Engend'ring, to the bright-hair'd Phoebus bore, The (prings whence Nature's operations flow,
Foul peftilence, that on the wide-ftretch'd wings Plods thro' a dreary wafte with toil and pain,
Of commerce speeds from Cairo's fwarthy bay And reafons, hopes, and thinks, and lives in vain ;
His weftering flight, and thro' the fick air flings For fable Death still hovering o'er his head,
Spotted contagion; at his heels difinav Cuts fhort his progrefs with his vital thread.
And defolation urge their fire-wheel'd yoke Wherefore, fince Nature errs not, do we find
Terrible; as long of old, when from the height Thefe feeds of Science in the human mind,
Of Paran came unwreath'd the mightiest, shook If no congenial fruits are predefign'd?
Earth's firm fixt base tottering; thro' the black For what avails to man this pow'r to roam
[abroad Thro' ages past, and ages yet to come,
Glanc'd the flash'd lightnings: heaven's rent roof T' explore new worlds o'er all th' ethereal way,
Thunder'd; and univerfal nature felt its God. Chain'd to a spot, and living but a day?
Who on that scene of terror, on that hour Since all muft perish in one common grave,
Nor can thefe long laborious fearches lave,
Were it not wifer far, fupinely laid,
To fport with Phillis in the noontide shade?
Or at thy jovial festivals appear,
Great Bacchus, who alone the foul can clear
From all that it has felt, and all that it can fear?
Come on then, let us feaft; let Chloe fing,
And foft Neæra touch the trembling string;
Enjoy the prefent hour, nor feek to know
What good or ill to-morrow may bestow.
But thefe delights foon pall upon the taste;
Let's try then if more ferious cannot last:
Wealth let us heap on wealth, or fame pursue,
Let pow'r and glory be our points in view;
In courts, in camps, in fenates let us live,
Our levees crowded like the buzzing hive:
Each weak attempt the fame fad leffon brings!
Alas! what vanity in human things!

Of roufed indignation, fhall withstand
Th' Almighty, when he meditates to show'r
The bursting vengeance o'er a guilty land?
Canft thou, fecure in reafon's vaunted pride, [gore
Tongue-doughty mifcreant, who but now didft
With more than Hebrew rage the innocent fide
Of agonizing mercy, bleeding fore-
Canft thou confront, with fted faft eye unaw'd,
The fworded judgment talking far and near?
Well mayft thou tremble, when an injur'd God
Difclaims thee-guilt is ever quick of fear-
Loud whirlwinds howl in zephyr's fofteft breath,
And every glancing meteor glares imagin'd death.
The good alone are fearlefs; they alone,

Firm and collected in their virtue, brave
The wreck of worlds, and look unfhrinking down
On the dread yawnings of the rav'nous grave:
Thrice happy who, the blameless road along

Of honeft praife, hath reach'd the vale of death
Around him, like miniftrant cherubs, throng
His better actions, to the parting breath
Singing their bleffed requiems; he the while
Gently repofing on fome friendly breast,
Breathes out his benifons; then with a fimile

Of foft complacence lays him down to reft, Calm as the flumbering infant: from the goal Free and unbounded flies the difembodied foul.

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Whether fome delegated charge below, [claim;
Some much-lov'd friend its hovering care may
Whether it heavenward foars, again to know
That long-forgotten country whence it came;
Conjecture ever, the misfeatur'd child

Of letter'd arrogance, delights to run
Thro' fpeculation's puzzling mazes wild,
And all to end at laft where it begun.
Fain would we trace, with reafon's erring clue,
The darkfome paths of deftiny aright;
In vain; the task were easier to pursue

The trackles wheelings of the fwallow's flight.
From mortal ken himself the Almighty shrouds,
Pavilion'd in thick night and circumambient

§ 346. On the Immortality of the Soul. S.JENYNS. Tranflated from the Latin of If. H. Browne.


O all inferior animals 'tis giv'n


What means then thall we try where hope to
A friendly harbour for the restlefs mind? [find
Who ftill, you fee, impatient to obtain
Knowledge immenfe (fo Nature's laws ordain),
Ev'n now, tho' fetter'd in corporeal clay,
Climbs step by step the prospect to survey,
And feeks unwearied Truth's eternal ray.
No fleeting joys fhe asks which muft depend
On the frail fenfes, and with them must end;
But fuch as fuit her own immortal fame,

Free from all change, eternally the same.


Take courage then, thefe joys we shall attain;
Nor fhall the foul, on which it has bestow'd
Almighty wifdom never acts in vain:
Such pow'rs, e'er perifh like an earthly clod;
But purg'd at length from foul corruption's ftain,"
Freed from her prifon and unbound her chain,
She fhall her native ftrength and native skies

To heav'n an old inhabitant return,

And draw nectareous streams from truth's per-
petual urn.

Whilft life remains (if life it can be call'd
T' exift in fleshly bondage thus enthrall'd),
Tir'd with the dull purfuit of worldly things,
The foul fcarce wakes, or opes her gladiome
Yet ftill the godlike exile in difgrace [wings,
Retains fome marks of her celeftial race;
Elfe whence from mem'ry's ftore can the produce

Terjoy the fate allotted them by Heav'n; Such various thoughts, of range them fo for ufc





Can matter thefe contain, difpofe, apply?
Can in her cell fuch mighty treasures lie?
Or can her native force produce them to the eye?
Whence is this pow'r, this foundrefs of all arts,
Serving, adorning life, thro' all its parts;
Which names impos'd, by letters mark'd those


Adjusted properly by legal claims,"

From woods and wilds collected rude mankind,
And cities, laws, and governments defign'd?
What can this be, but fome bright ray from heav'n,
Some emanation from Omniscience given?

When now the rapid ftream of eloquence
Bears all before it, paffion, reafon, fenie,
Can its dread thunder or its lightning's force
Derive their effence from a mortal fource?
What think you of the bard's enchanting art,
Which, whether he attempts to warm the heart
With fabled fcenes, or charm the ear with rhyme,
Breathes all pathetic, lovely, and fublime?
Whilft things on earth roll round from age to age,
The fame dull farce repeated on the stage,
The poet gives us a creation new,
More pleafing and more perfect than the true;
The mind, who always to perfection hastes,
Perfection fuch as here the never tastes,
With gratitude accepts the kind deceit,
And thence forefees a fyftem more complete.
Of thofe what think you, who the circling race
Of funs and their revolving planets trace,


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Say, can you doubt, but that th' all-searching foul,
That now can traverfe heav'n from pole to pole,
From thence defcending visits but this earth,
And fhall once more regain the regions of her
Could the thus act, unlefs fome Power un-
From matter quite diftin&t and all her own,
Supported and impell'd her? She approves
Self-confcious, and condemns; the hates and loves,
Mourns and rejoices, hopes and is afraid,
Without the body's unrequested aid:
Her own internal ftrength her reafon guides;
By this the now compares things, now divides;
Truth's fcatter'd fragments piece by piece collects,
Rejoins, and thence her edifice erects;
Piles arts on arts, effects to caufes ties,
And rears th' afpiring fabric to the skies;
From whence, as on a diftant plain below,
She fees from caufes confequences flow,
And the whole chain diftinétly comprehends,
Which from the Almighty's throne to earth de-
And lastly, turning inwardly her eyes, [fcends:
Perceives how all her own ideas rife;
Contemplates what the is, and whence the came,
And almoft comprehends her own amazing frame.
Can mere machines be with fuch pow'rs endu'd,
Or confcious of thofe pow'rs, fuppofe they cou'd?
For body is but a machine alone

Mov'd by external force, and impulfe not its own.
Rate not th' extenfion of the human mind
By the plebeian standard of mankind,
But by the fize of thofe gigantic few


Or Britain, well-deferving equal praise,
Parent of heroes too in better days.
By verfe, law, eloquence confign'd to fame;
Why should I try her numerous fons to name,
Long loft in darkness, and afraid of light?
Or who have forc'd fair Science into fight,
O'er all fuperior, like the folar ray,
First Bacon vfher'd in the dawning day,
And drove the mifts of fophiftry away;
Following experience ftill throughout his courfe;
Pervaded nature with amazing force,
And finishing at length his deftin'd way,
To Newton he bequeath'd the radiant lamp of day.
Illuftrious fouls! if any tender cares
Affect angelic breafts for Man's affairs;
If, in your prefent happy heav'nly ftate,
Let this degenerate land again be blest
You 're not regardlefs quite of Britain's fate,
With that true vigour which the once poffefs'd;
And to our ancient dignity to rife.
Compel us to unfold our flumb'ring eyes,
Such wondrous pow'rs as thefe must sure be giv'n
For most important purposes by Heav'n;
Who bids these stars as bright examples fhine,
Befprinkled thinly by the hand divine,
To form to virtue each degenerate time,
And point out to the foul its origin fublime.
That there's a felf which after death fhall live,
All are concern'd about, and all believe;
That fomething's ours, when we from life depart,
The wife of learn'd antiquity proclaim
This all conceive, all feel it at the heart;
This truth, the public voice declares the fame;
For future profpects in a world to come.
No land fo rude but looks beyond the tomb
We plant flow oaks pofterity to fhade;
Hence, without hopes to be in life repaid,
And hence vaft pyramids afpiring high
Hence is our love of fame; a love fo ftrong,
Lift their proud heads aloft, and time defy.
We think no dangers great, or labours long,
By which we hope our beings to extend,
And to remoteft times in glory to defcend.

Difowning ev'ry crime for which he dies;
For fame the wretch beneath the gallows lies
Of life profufe, tenacious of a name,
Fearless of death, and yet afraid of fhame.
Nature has wove into the human mind
This anxious care for names we leave behind,
T'extend our narrow views beyond the tomb,
For if when dead we are but duft or clay,
And give an earnest of a life to come:
Why think of what pofterity shall say?
Nor ever penetrate the filent urn.
Her praise or cenfure cannot us concern,

What mean the nodding plumes, the fun'ral
And marble monument that speaks in vain,
To their unfeeling dead in diff'rent ways!
With all thofe cares which ev'ry nation pays
Some in the flower-ftrewn grave the corpfe have

And annual obfequies around it paid,

Whom Greece and Rome Atill offer to our view, As if to please the poor departed thade;



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