For tranfport doft thou call on ev'ry hour,
Lorenzo At thy friend's expence be wife;
Lean not on earth; 'twill pierce thee to the heart;
A broken reed at best but, oft a spear :
On its fharp point peace bleeds, and hope expires.
Turn, hopeless thoughts! turn from her:-
Thought repell'd,

Refenting rallies, and wakes ev'ry woe.
Snatch'd ere thy prime ! and in thy bridal hour!
And when kind fortune, with thy lover, fmil'd!
And when high flavour'd thy freth op'ning joys!
And when blind man pronounc'd thy blifs com-
plete!

And on a foreign fhore, where ftrangers wept !
Strangers to thee; and more furprizing ftill,
Strangers to kindnefs wept: Their eyes let fall
Inhuman tears; ftrange tears! that trickled down
From marble hearts! obdurate tenderness !
A tenderness that call'd them more severe;
In spite of nature's foft perfuafion, steel'd;
While nature melted, fuperftition rav'd!
That mourn'd the dead, and this deny'd a grave.
Their fighs incens'd; fighs foreign to the will!
Their will the tyger fuck'd, outrag'd the storm.
For oh! the curit ungodlinefs of zeal!
While finful flesh relented, fpirit nurst
In blind infallibility's embrace,
The fainted fpirit petrify'd the breast:
Deny'd the charity of duft to spread
O'er duft! a charity their dogs enjoy.
What could I do? What fuccour? What refource?
With pious facrilege, a grave I ftole;
With impious piety, that grave I wrong'd;
Short in my duty; coward in my grief
More like her murderer, than friend, I crept,
With foft suspended step, and muffled deep
In midnight darknefs, whisper'd my laft figh.
I whisper'd what fhould echo thro' their realms;
Nor writ her name whofe tomb fhould pierce
the skies.

Prefumptuous fear! How durft I dread her foes,
While nature's loudeft dictates I obey'd?
Pardon neceffity, bleft fhade! Of grief
And indignation rival bursts I pour'd;
Half execration mingled with my pray'r;
Kindled at inan, while I his God ador'd;
Sore grudg'd the favage land her facred duft;
Stampt the curft foil; and with humanity
(Deny'd Narciffa) with'd them all a grave.
Glows my refentment into guilt? What guilt
Can equal violations of the dead?

The dead how facred! Sacred is the duft
Of this heav'n-labour'd form, erect, divine;
This heav'n-affum'd majestic robe of earth
He deign'd to wear, who hung the vast expanfe
With azure bright, and cloath'd the fun in gold.
When ev'ry paffion fleeps that can offend;
When ftrikes us ev'ry motive that can melt;
When man can reak his rancour uncontroul'd,
That ftrongeft curb on infult and ill-will;
Then, fpleen to duft the duft of innocence;
An angel's duft-This Lucifer tranfcends;
When he contended for the patriarch's bones,
'Twas not the ftrife of malice, but of pride;
The furife of pontiff pride, not pontiff gall.

It is another scene! another felf!
And ftill another as time rolls along;
And that a felf far more illuftrious ftill.
Beyond long ages, yet roll'd up in fhades,
Unpierc'd by bold conjecture's keenest ray,
What evolutions of surprising fate!

How nature opens, and receives my foul [gods In boundless walks of raptur'd thought! where Encounter and embrace me! What new births Of strange adventure, foreign to the fun, Where what now charms, perhaps, whate'er Old time, and fair creation, are forgot! [exifts, Is this extravagant? Of man we form

Extravagant conception to be just

Conception unconfin'd wants wings to reach him!
Beyond its reach, the Godhead only more.
He, the great Father! kindled at one flame
The world of rationals; one fpirit pour'd
From fpirit's awful fountain; pour'd Hamfelf
Thro' all their fouls; but not in equal stream,
Profufe or frugal, of th'infpiring God,
As his wife plan demanded; and when paft
Their various trials, in their various fpheres,
If they continue rational as made,
Reforbs them all into himself again;

His throne their centre, and his fmile their crown,

WHO

$103. Feeling. YOUNG.

HO never lov'd ne'er fuffer'd; he feels
nothing,

Who nothing feels but for himself alone;
And when we feel for others, reafon reels,
O'erloaded, from her path, and man runs mad.
As love alone can exquifitely blefs,
Love only feels the marvellous of pain;
Opens new veins of torture in the foul,
And wakes the nerve where agonies are born.

$104. Religion. YOUNG. RELIGION's all. Defcending from the skies

To wretched man, the goddefs in her left Holds out this world, and, in her right, the next; Religion the foul voucher man is man; Supporter fole of man above himself; Ev'n in this night of frailty, change, and death, She gives the foul a foul that acts a god. Religion! Providence! an after-state! Here is firm footing; here is folid rock! This can fupport us; all is fea besides; Sinks under us; beftorms, and then devours. His hand the good man fastens on the skies, And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl.

As when a wretch, from thick, polluted air, Darkness, and ftench, and fuffocating damps, And dungeon-horrors, by kind fate difcharg'd, Climbs fome fair eminence, where æther pure Surrounds him, and Elyfian profpects rife, His heart exults, his fpirits caft their load! As if new-born, he triumphs in the change; So joys the foul when, from inglorious aims And fordid sweets, from feculence and froth Of ties terrestrial, fet at large, fhe mounts

Fa

T.

To Reason's region, her own element,
Breathes hopes immortal, and affects the skies.
Religion! thou the foul of happiness ;
And groaning Calvary, of thee! There fhine
The nobleft truths; there ftrongeft motives fting:
There facred violence affaults the foul;
There nothing but compulfion is forborn.
Can love allure us, or can terror awe
He weeps!-the falling drop puts out the fun;
He fighs the figh carth's deep foundation
If in his love fo terrible, what when [fhakes.
His wrath inflam'd? his tendernefs on fire?
Like foft, fmooth oil, outblazing other fires?
Can pray'r, can praife avert it-Thou, my All!
My theme! my infpiration and my crown!
My ftrength in age! my rife in low eftate!
My foul's ambition pleafure! wealth

world!

my

My light in darknefs! and my life in death!
My boaft thro' time! blifs thro' eternity!
Eternity! too short to fpeak thy praise !
Or fathom thy profound of love to man;
To man of men the meaneft, ev'n to me:
My facrifice! my God!-what things art thefe!

$105. Jealousy. YOUNG.

JEALOUSY, each other paffion's calm To thee, thou conflagration of the foul ! Thou king of torments! thou grand counterFor all the tranfports beauty can infpire! [poife

To fettle on Herfelf our point fupreme!
There lies our theatre! there fits our judge.
Darkness the curtain drops o'er life's dull feene;
'Tis the kind hand of Providence ftretcht out
'Twixt man and vanity; 'tis reafon's reign,
And virtue's too; thefe tutelary fhades
Are man's afylum from the tainted throng.
Night is the good man's friend and guardian too;
It no lefs refcues virtue than infpires.

Virtue, for ever frail as fair, below,
Her tender nature fuffers in the crowd,
Nor touches on the world without a ftain:
The world's infectious; few bring back at eve,
Immaculate, the manners of the morn.
Something we thought, is blotted; we refolv'd,
Is fhaken; we renounc'd, returns again.
Each falutation may flide in a fin
Unthought before, or fix a former flaw.
Nor is it it range: Light, motion, concourfe, noife,
All, fcatter us abroad; thought outward bound,
Neglectful of our home affairs, flies off
In fuine and diffipation, quits her charge,
And leaves the breaft unguarded to the foe.
Prefent example gets within our guard,
And acts with double force; by few repell'd.
Ambition fires ambition; love of gain
Strikes like a peftilence, from breast to breast;
Riot, pride, perfidy, blue vapours breathe;
And inhumanity is caught from man,
From finiling man. A flight, a fingle glance,
And fhot at random, often has brought home
A fudden fever to the throbbing heart,
Of envy, rancour, or impure defire.
We fee, we hear, with peril; fafety dwells
Remote from multitude; the world's a school
Of wrong, and what proficients fwarm around!
We muft or imitate, or difapprove;
Muft lift as their accomplices, or foes;
That stains our innocence; this wounds our peace.
From nature's birth, hence wifdom has been fmit
With fweet recefs, and languifht for the fhade.

This facred fhade, and folitude, what is it?
'Tis the felt prefence of the Deity.
Few are the faults we flatter when alone:
Vice finks in her allurements, is ungilt,
And looks, like other objects, black by night.
By night an Atheist half-believes a God.

Night is fair virtue's immemorial friend;
The confcious moon, thro' ev'ry diftant age,
Has held a lamp to wisdom, and let fall
On contemplation's eye her purging ray.
The fam'd Athenian, he who woo'd from heav'n
Philofophy the fair, to dwell with men,
And form their manners, not inflame their pride,
While o'er his head, as fearful to moleft
His lab'ring mind, the ftars in filence flide,
And feem all gazing on their future guest,
See him foliciting his ardent fuit

In private audience; all the live-long night,
Rigid in thought, and motionlefs, he stands;
Nor quits his theme, or pofture, till the fun
(Rude drunkard, rifing rofy from the main ')
Difturbs his nobler intellectual beam,
And gives him to the tumult of the world.

$112. Reflections in a Church-yard. YOUNG. THE man how bleft, who, fick of gaudy fcenes,

(Scenes apt to thrust between us and ourselves!).
Is led by choice to take his fav'rite walk
Beneath death's gloomy, filent, cypreis fhades,
Unpierc'd by vanity's fantaftic ray;

To read his monuments, to weigh his duft,
Vifit his vaults, and dwell among the tombs!
Lorenzo, read with me Narciffa's ftone
(Narcilla was thy fav'rite); let us read
Her moral ftone; few doctors preach fo well;
Few orators fo tenderly can touch
The feeling heart. What pathos in the date!
Apt words can ftrike: and yet in them we fee
Faint images of what we here enjoy.

What caufe have we to build on length of life?
Temptations feize when fear is laid fleep;
And ill foreboded is our strongest guard.

;

See from her tomb, as from an humble shrine, Truth, radiant goddess fallies on my foul, And puts Delufion's dusky train to flight; Difpels the mifts our fultry paffions raife, From objects low, terrestrial, and obfcene,* And fhews the real estimate of things; Which no man, unafflicted, ever faw Pulls off the veil from virtue's rifing charms; Detects temptation in a thousand lyes. Truth bids me look on men as autumn leaves, And all they bleed for, as the fummer's duft, Driv'n by the whirlwind: Lighted by her beams, I widen my horizon, gain new pow'rs, See things invifible, feel things remote ; Am prefent with futurities; think nought To man fo foreign as the joys poffeft; Nought fo much his as those beyond the grave.

No folly keeps its colour in her fight; Pale worldly wisdom lofes all her charms; In pompous promife, from her fchemes profound. If future fate fhe plans, 'tis all in leaves, Like Sibyl, unfubftantial, fleeting blifs! At the first blaft it vanishes in air. [and yet What grave preferibes the best A friend's: From a friend's grave how foon we difengage! Ev'n to the deareft, as his marble, cold, Why are friends ravifht from us? 'Tis to bind, By foft affection's ties, on human hearts

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