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The thought of death, which reafon, too fupine, | To cull his victims from the fairest fold,
Or mifemploy'd, fo rarely faftens there.
Nor reafon, nor affection, no, nor both
Combin'd,can break the witchcrafts of the world.
Behold, th'inexorable hour at hand!
Behold, the inexorable hour forgot!
And to forget it, the chief end of life,
Tho' well to ponder it is life's chief end.

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114. Inattention to the Voice of Death. YOUNG. TELL me, fome God' my guardian angel' tell, What thus infatuates? what enchantment plants

The phantom of an age 'twixt us and death,
Already at the door? He knocks; we hear,
And yet we will not hear. What mail defends
Our untouch'd hearts? What miracle turns off
The pointed thought, which from a thoufand
Is daily darted, and is daily fhunn'd? [quivers
We ftand, as in a battle, throngs on throngs
Around us falling; wounded oft ourselves;
Tho' bleeding with our wounds, immortal ftill!
We fee time's furrows on another's brow,
And death entrench'd preparing his affault;
How few themselves, in that just mirror, fee!
Or, fecing, draw their inference as strong!
There death is certain; doubtful here: He muft,
And foon: We may, within an age, expire.
Tho' gray our heads, our thoughts and aims are
green;
(fent;
Like damag'd clocks, whofe hand and bell dif-
Folly fings Six, while Nature points at Twelve.
What folly can be ranker? Like our fhadows,
Our wishes lengthen as our fun declines.
No with fhould loiter, then, this fide the grave;
Our hearts fhould leave the world before the
Calls for our carcafes to mend the foil.
Enough to live in tempeft, die in port;
Age fhould fly concourfe, cover in retreat
Defects of judgment, and the will fubdue;
Walk thoughtful on the filent, folemn thore
Of that vaft ocean it muft fail to foon;
And put good works on board; and wait the
That fhortly blows us into worlds unknown;
If unconfider'd too, a dreadful fcene!

And fheath his fhafts in all the pride of life.
When flooded with abundance, purpled o'er
With recent honours, bloom'd with ev'ry blifs,
Set up in oftentation, made the gaze,
The gaudy centre of the public eye,
When fortune thus has tofs'd her child in air,
Snatcht from the covert of an humble state,
How often have I feen him dropt at once,
Our morning's envy! and our ev'ning's figh !
As if her bounties were the fignal giv'n,
The flow'ry wreath to mark the facrifice,
And call Death's arrows on the deftin'd prey.

High fortune feems in cruel league with fate.
Afk you for what? To give his war on man
The deeper dread, and more illuftrious spoil;
Thus to keep daring mortals more in awe.
And burns Lorenzo ftill for the fublime
Of life to hang his airy neft on high,
On the flight timber of the topmoft bough,
Rockt at each breeze, and menacing a fall?
Granting grim death at equal distance there;
Yet peace begins juft where ambition ends.
What makes man wretched? Happiness deny'd ?
Lorenzo! no: 'Tis happiness difdain'd.
She comes too meanly drest to win our smile;
And calls herself Content, a homely name!
Our flame is transport, and content our scorn.
Ambition turns, and fhuts the door against her,
And weds a toil, a tempeft, in her ftead;
A tempeft to warm tranfport near of kin.
Unknowing what our mortal state admits,
Life's modeft joys we ruin, while we raife;
And all our ecftafies are wounds to peace;
Peace, the full portion of mankind below.

And fince thy peace is dear, ambitious youth!
Of fortune fond! as thoughtless of thy fate!
As late I drew death's picture to ftir up [fee
Thy wholefome face; now drawn in contraft,
Gay Fortune's, thy vain hopes to reprimand.
See high in air the fportive goddefs hangs,
Unlocks her cafket, fpreads her glittering ware,
And calls the giddy winds to puff abroad
Her random bounties o'er the gaping throng.
All rush rapacious, friends o'er trodden friends;
Sons o'er their father, fubjects o'er their kings,
Priefts o'er their gods, and lovers o'er the fair
wind(Still more ador'd) to fnatch the golden fhow'r.

[knell

All thould be prophets to themfelves; forefee
Their future fate; their future fate foretafte:
This art would wafte the bitterness of death.
The thought of death alone the fear deftroys;
A difaffection to that precious thought
Is more than midnight darknefs on the foul,
Which fleeps beneath it, on a precipice,
Puff'd off by the first blast, and lost for ever.

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Gold glitters moft where virtue fhines no more,
As ftars from abfent funs have leave to fhine.

what a precious pack of votaries
Unkennell'd from the prifons and the stews,
Pour in, all open in their idol's praise;
All, ardent, eye each wafture of her hand,
And, wide expanding their voracious jaws,
Morfel on morfel fwallow down unchew'd,
Untafted, thro' mad appetite for more;
Gorg'd in the throat, yet lean and rav'nous ftill.
Sagacious all, to trace the fmallest game,
And bold to feize the greateft. If (bleft chance!)
Court-zephyrs fweetly breathe, they launch,
they fly,

O'er juft, o'er facred, all-forbidden ground,
Drunk with the burning fcent of place or pow'r,
Staunch to the foot of lucre, till they die.
Lyfander

§ 116. Lyfander and Afpafia. YOUNG,
LYSANDER, happy paft the common lot,
Was warn'd of danger; but too gay to fear.
He woo'd the fair Afpafia: She was kind:
In youth, form,fortune,fame,they both were bleft;
All who knew, envy'd; yet in envy lov'd;
Can fancy form more finish'd happiness?
Fixt was the nuptial hour. Her stately dome
Rofe on the founding beach. The glittering fpires
Float in the wave, and break against the shore:
So break thofe glitt'ring fhadows, human joys.
The faithlefs morning fmil'd: he takes his leave,
To re-embrace, in ecftafies, at eve.
The rifing storm forbids. The news arrives:
Untold, the faw it in her fervant's eye.
She felt it feen (her heart was apt to feel);
And, drown'd, without the furious ocean's aid,
In fuffocating forrows, shares his tomb.
Now, round the fumptuous bridal monument
The guilty billows innocently roar;
And the rough failor paffing, drops a tear.

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And fouls in ermine fcorn a foul without?
Can place or leffen us, or aggrandize?
Pygmies are pygmies ftill, tho' percht on Alps;
And pyramids are pyramids in vales.
Each man makes his own ftature, builds himself:
Virtue alone outbuilds the pyramids :
Her monuments fhall laft when Egypt's fall.

§ 119. Ambition and Fame. YOUNG. AMBITION's boundless appetite out-speaks

The verdict of its fhame. When fouls take
At high prefumptions of their own defert, [fire
One age is poor applaufe; the mighty fhout,
The thunder by the living few begun,

Late time muft echo: worlds unborn refound.
We with our names eternally to live: [thought,
Wild dream! which ne'er had haunted human
Had not our natures been eternal too.
Inftinct points out an int'reft in hereafter:
But our blind reafon fees not where it lies;
Or, fecing, gives the fubftance for the shade.
Fame is the fhade of immortality,

And in itself a fhadow. Soon as caught,
Condemn'd; it shrinks to nothing in the grafp.
Confult th'ambitious, 'tis ambition's cure.
"And is This all?" cry'd Cæfar at his height,

HEART merit wanting, mount we ne'er fo Difgufted. This third proof ambition brings

high,

Our height is but the gibbet of our name.
A celebrated wretch, when I behold,
When I behold a genius bright, and base,
Of tow'ring talents, and terrestrial aims;
Methinks I fee, as thrown from her high fphere,
The glorious fragments of a foul immortal,
With rubbish mixt, and glittering in the duft.
Struck at the fplendid, melancholy fight,
At once compaffion foft, and envy, rife-
But wherefore envy? Talents angel-bright,
If wanting worth, are fhining inftruments
In falfe ambition's hand, to finish faults
Illuftrious, and give infamy renown.

§ 118.

Exalted Station. YOUNG.
-WHAT is ftation high?
'Tis a proud mendicant; it boafts, and begs;
It begs an alms of homage from the throng,
And oft the throng denies its charity.
Monarchs and minifters are awful names;
Whoever wear them challenge our devoir.
Religion, public order, both exact
External homage, and a supple knee,
To beings pompously fet up to ferve
The meanest flave; all more is merit's due,
Her facred and inviolable right:
Nor ever paid the monarch, but the man.
Our hearts ne'er bow but to fuperior worth;
Nor ever fail of their allegiance there.
Fools, indeed, drop the man in their account,
And vote the mantle into majefty.
Let the fmall favage boaft his filver fur;
His royal robe unborrow'd, and, unbought,
His own, defcending from his fires.
Shall man be proud to wear his livery,

Of immortality. The firft in fame,
Obferve him near, your envy will abate;
Sham'd at the difproportion vaft, between
The paffion and the purchase, he will figh
And why? Becaufe far richer prize invites
At fuch fuccefs, and blush at his renown.
His heart; far more illuftrious glory calls:
It calls in whispers, yet the deafeft hear.

§ 120. Human Praife. YOUNG.
NOR abfolutely vain is human praife,

When human is fupported by divine.
I'll introduce Lorenzo to himself;
Pleafure and pride (bad mafters!) fhare our hearts,
As love of pleasure is ordain'd to guard
And feed our bodies, and extend our race;
The love of praife is planted to protect,
And propagate the glories of the mind.
What is it but the love of praife inspires,
Matures, refines, embellifhes, exalts,
Earth's happiness? From that, the delicate,
The grand, the marvellous; of civil life,
Want and convenience, under-workers, lay
The bafis on which love of glory builds.
Nor is thy life, O Virtue! lefs in debt
To Praife, thy fecret ftimulating friend.
Were men not proud, what merit fhould we mifs!
Pride made the virtues of the pagan world.
Praife is the falt that feafons right the man,
And whets his appetite for mortal good.
Thirft of applaufe is virtue's fecond guard;
Reason, her first; but reafon wants an aid;
Our private reafon is a flatterer;
Thirft of applaufe calls public judgment in
To poife our own, to keep an even fcale,
And give endanger'd virtue fairer play.

$121. Hope. YOUNG.

HOPE, of all paffions, moft befriends us here;
Paffions of prouder name befriend us lefs.
Joy has her tears; and Tranfport has her death:
Hope, like a cordial, innocent, tho' strong,
Man's heart at once infpirits, and ferenes;
Nor makes him pay his wifdom for his joys;
'Tis all our prefent ftate can fafely bear,
Health to the frame! and vigour to the mind!
A joy attemper'd! a chaftis'd delight!
Like the fair fummer ev'ning mild, and sweet!
'Tis man's full cup; his paradife below!

$122. Human Life compared to the Ocean.

YOUNG.

But plants new terrors on the victor's brow:
What pain to quit the world, juft made their own!
Their neft fo deeply down'd, and built fo high!
Too low they build, who build beneath the stars.

$123. Humility true Greatnefs. YOUNG.
-DOST thou demand a test,

A teft, at once infallible and short,
Of real Greatnefs? That man greatly lives,
Whate'er his fate, or fame, who greatly dies;
High-flush'd with hope, where heroes fhall de-
If this a true criterion, many courts,
[fpair.
Illuftrious, might afford but few grandees.
Th'Almighty, from his throne,on earth surveys
Nought greater than an honeft, humble Heart;
An humble heart His refidence! pronounc'd

OCEAN! Thou dreadful and tumultuous home His fecond feat, and rival to the skies.

Of dangers, at eternal war with man!
Death's capital, where most he domineers,
With all his chofen terrors frowning round,
(Tho' lately feafted high at Albion's coft)
Wide-op'ning, and loud-roaring still for more!
Too faithful mirror! how doft thou reflect
The melancholy face of human life?
The ftrong resemblance tempts me farther ftill;
And, haply, Britain may be deeper ftruck
By moral truth, in fuch a mirror feen,
Which nature holds for ever at her eye.

Self-flatter'd, unexperienc'd, high in hope,
When young, with fanguine cheer, and streamers
We cut our cable, launch into the world, [gay,
And fondly dream each wind and far our friend;
All, in fome darling enterprife einbarkt:
But where is he can fathom its extent ?
Amid a multitude of artless hands,
Ruin's fure perquifite! her lawful prize!
Some fteer aright; but the black blaft blows hard,
And puffs them wide of hope: With hearts of
proof,

Full against wind and tide, fome win their way;
And when ftrong effort has deferv'd the port,
And tugg'd it into view, 'tis won! 'tis loft!
Tho' frong their oar, still stronger is their fate;
They ftrike; and while they triumph,they expire.
Ja ftiels of weather, moft; fomne fink outright;
O'er them, and o'er their names, the billows clofe;
To-morrow knows not they were ever born.
Others a fhort memorial leave behind,
Like a flag floating, when the bark's ingulph'd;
It floats a moment, and is feen no more:
One Cæfar lives, a thoufand are forgot,
How few, beneath aufpicious planets born
(Darlings of Providence! fond fate's elect!)
With welling fails make good the promis'd port,
With all their withes freighted! Yet ev' thele,
Freighted with all their wifhes, foon complain;
Free from misfortune, not from nature free,
They ftill are men; and when is man fecure?
As fatal time, as ftorm! the ruth of years [efcapes
Beats down their ftrength; their numberless
In rum end: And, now, their proud fuccefs

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The private path, the fecret acts of men,
If noble, far the noblest of our lives!

$124. Pleasure. YOUNG.
PLEASURE's the miftrefs of etherial powers
For her contend the rival gods above;
Pleafure's the miftrefs of the world below;
And well it was for man that pleasure charms :
How would all ftagnate, but for pleasure's ray
How would the frozen ftream of action cease!
What is the pulfe of this fo bufy world?
The love of pleafure: That, thro' ev'ry vein,
Throws motion, warmth; and shuts out death
from life.

Tho' various are the tempers of mankind,
Pleafure's gay family hold all in chaims :
Some most affect the black; and fome the fair;
Some honeft pleasure court; and some, obscene.
Pleasures obfcene are various, as the throng
Of paffions, that can err in human hearts;
Miftake their objects, or tranfgrefs their bounds.
Think you there's but one whoredom? Whore-
But when our reafon licences delight. [dom all,
Doft doubt, Lorenzo? Thou shalt doubt no more,
Thy father chides thy gallantries; yet hugs
An ugly, common harlot in the dark;
A rank adulterer with others gold!
And that hag Vengeance, in a corner, charms.
Hatred her brothel has, as well as love,
Where horrid epicures debauch in blood.
Whate'er the motive, Pleafure is the mark:
For Her, the black affaffin draws his fword;
For Her, dark ftatefimen trim their midnight lamp,
To which no fingle facrifice may fall;
For Her, the faint abftains; the miser starves;
The Stoic proud, for Pleasure, Pleafure fcorn'd;
For Her, Affliction's daughters grief indulge,
And find, or hope, a luxury in tears:
For Her, guilt, fhame, toil, danger, we defy;
And, with an aim voluptuous, rush on death.
Thus univerfal her defpotic power!

And as her empire wide, her praife is just.
Patron of pleasure! doater on delight!

Admiral Bal.hen, &c.

I am thy rival; pleasure I profefs;
Pleasure the purpose of my gloomy fong.
Pleasure is nought but virtue's gayer name;
I wrong her ftill, I rate her worth too low;
Virtue the root, and pleasure is the flow'r;
And honeft Epicurus' foes were fools.

[fence!
But this founds harth, and gives the wife of-
If o'er-ftrain'd wisdom still retains the name,
How knits aufterity her cloudy brow,
And blames, as bold and hazardous, the praise
Of pleasure to mankind, unprais'd, too dear!
Ye modern ftoics! hear my foft reply;
Their fenfes men will truft: we can't impofe;
Or, if we could, is impofition right?
Own honey fweet; but, owning, add this fting:
"When mixt with poison, it is deadly too."
Truth never was indebted to a lie.

Is nought but virtue to be prais'd as good?
Why then is health preferr'd before disease?
What nature loves is good, without our leave;
And where no future drawback cries," Beware,"
Pleasure, tho' not from virtue, should prevail.
'Tis balm to life, and gratitude to Heaven;
How cold our thanks for bounties unenjoy'd!
The love of pleasure is man's eldest-born,
Born in his cradle, living to his tomb;
Wisdom her younger fifter, tho' more grave,
Was meant to minifter, and not to mar,
Imperial pleasure, queen of human hearts.

$125. Piety. YOUNG.

ON Picty humanity is built;

And on humanity much happinefs;
And yet ftill more on piety itself.

A foul in commerce with her God is heaven;
Feels not the tumults and the fhocks of life,
The whirls of paffions, and the strokes of heart.
A Deity believ'd, is joy begun;
A Deity ador'd, is joy advanc'd;
A Deity belov'd, is joy matur’d.
Each branch of piety delight infpires;
Faith builds a bridge from this world to the next,
O'er death's dark gulph, and all its horror hides;
Praise, the sweet exhalation of our joy,
That joy exalts, and makes it fweeter ftill;
Pray'r ardent opens heav'n, lets down a stream
Of glory on the confecrated hour

Of man in audience with the Deity.
Who worships the Great God, that inftant joins
The firft in heav'n, and fets his foot on hell.

No

126. Earthly Happiness. YOUNG.

man is happy, till he thinks, on earth There breathes not a more happythan himfelf: Then envy dies, and love o'erflows on all; And love o'erflowing makes an angel here. Such angels, all, intitled to repofe

On Hin who governs fate: Tho' tempeft frowns, Tho' nature thakes, how foft to lean on Heav'n! To lean on Him, on whom archangels lean! With inward eyes, and filent as the grave, They ftand collecting every beam of thought, Till their hearts kindle with divine delight;

For all their thoughts, like angels, feen of old In Ifrael's dream, come from, and go to, heav'n; Hence are they ftudious of fequefter'd fcenes; While noife and diffipation comfort thee.

$127. Joy. YOUNG,

VAIN are all fudden fallies of delight;

Convulfions of a weak, distemper'd joy. Joy's a fixt state; a tenure, not a start. Blifs there is none, but unprecarious blifs: That is the gem: Sell all, and purchase that. Why go a begging to contingencies, Not gain'd with cafe, nor fafely lov'd, if gain'd? At good fortuitous, draw back, and paufe; Sufpect it; what thou canst ensure, enjoy; And nought, but what thou giv'ft thyself, is fure. Reafon perpetuates joy that reafon gives, And makes it as immortal as herself:

To mortals, nought immortal but their worth.

$128. Worth. YOUNG. WORTH, conscious worth! fhould abfolutely reign;

And other joys afk leave for their approach;
Nor, unexamin'd, ever leave obtain.
Thou art all anarchy; a mob of joys
Wage war, and perish in inteftine broils;
Not the leaft promise of eternal peace!
No bofom-comfort! or unborrow'd blifs!
Thy thoughts are vagabonds; all outward-bound,
'Mid fands, and rocks, and ftorms, to cruize for
pleasure ;
[gain'd.
If gain'd, dear bought; and better mifs'd than
Much pain muft expiate what much pain procur'd.
Fancy and fenfe, from an infected shore,
Thy cargo bring; and peftilence the prize.
Then, fuch thy thirft (infatiable thirst!
By fond indulgence but inflam'd the more!)
Fancy ftill cruizes when poor fenfe is tir'd.

$129. Picture of a good Man. YOUNG. SOME angel guide my pencil, while I draw,

What nothing lefs than angel can exceed; A man on earth devoted to the skies, Like fhips at fea, while in, above the world. With afpect mild, and elevated eye, Behold him feated on a mount ferene, Above the fogs of fenfe, and paffion's storm; All the black cares and tumults of this life, Like harmless thunders, breaking at his feet, Excite his pity, not impair his peace. Earth's genuine fons, the fceptred, and the flave, A mingled mob! a wand'ring herd! he fees, Bewilder'd in the vale; in all unlike! His full reverse in all! What higher praife? What ftronger demonftration of the right?

The prefent all their care; the future his. When public welfare calls, or private want, They give to fame; his bounty he conceals. Their virtues varnish nature; his exalt. Mankind's eftecin they court; and he, his own. Theirs, the wild chace of falfe felicities;

His, the compos'd poffeffion of the true.
Alike throughout is his confiftent piece,
All of one colour, and an even thread;
While party-colour'd fhreds of happiness,
With hideous gaps between, patch up for them
A madman's robe; each puff of fortune blows
The tatters by, and fhews their nakedness.

He fees with other eyes than theirs :-Where
Behold a fun, he fpies a Deity;
[they
What makes them only fmile, makes him adore;
Where they fee mountains, he but atoms fees;
An empire in his balance weighs a grain.
They things terreftrial worship, as divine:
His hopes immortal blow them by, as dust
That dims his fight, and fhortens his furvey,
Which longs, in Infinite, to lose all bound.
Titles and honours (if they prove his fate)
He lays afide to find his dignity;
No dignity they find in aught befides.
They triumph in externals (which conceal
Man's real glory) proud of an eclipfe.
Himself too much he prizes to be proud,
And nothing thinks fo great in man, as man.
Too dear he holds his int'reft, to neglect
Another's welfare, or his right invade;
Their int'reft, like a lion, lives on prey.
They kindle at the fhadow of a wrong;
Wrong he fuftains with temper, looks on heaven,
Nor ftoops to think his injurer his foe; [peace.
Nought but what wounds his virtue wounds his
A cover'd heart their character defends;
A cover'd heart denies him half his praife.
With nakedness his innocence agrees!
While their broad foilage teftifies their fall!
Their no-joys end where his full feast begins :
His joys create, theirs murder, future blifs.
To triumph in existence, his alone :
And his alone, triumphantly to think
His true exiftence is not yet begun.
His glorious courfe was yefterday complete;
Death, then, as welcome; yet life ftill is sweet.

$130. Night. YOUNG.

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O majestic Night! Nature's great ancestor! day's elder-born! And fated to furvive the tranfient fun! By mortals and immortals feen with awe! A ftarry crown thy raven brow adorns, Anazure zone thy waift; clouds, in heav'n's loom Wrought through varieties of fhape and fhade, In ample folds of drapery divine, [out, Thy flowing mantle form; and, heav'n throughVoluminoully pour thy pompous train.

$131. The Contraft. YOUNG. MOROSE is funk with fhame, whene'er furIn linen clean, or peruke undifguis'd. [priz'd No fublunary chance his veftments fear; Valu'd, like leopards, as their spots appear. A fam'd furtout he wears, which once was blue, And his foot fwims in a capacious fhoe: One day his wife (for who can wives reclaim?) Levell'd her barb'rous needle at his fame :

*

But open force was vain; by night she went,
And, while he flept, furpriz'd the darling rent:
Where yawn'd the frieze is now become a doubt;
"And glory, at one entrance, quite fhut out*."
He fcorns Florello, and Florello him;
This hates the filthy creature; that, the prim:
Thus, in each other, both these fools despise
Their own dear felves, with undifcerning eyes;
Their methods various, but alike their aim;
The floven and the fopling are the fame.

$132. Reflection on Death. YOUNG. WHere the prime actors of the last year's scenes Their port fo proud, their buskin, and their

plume?

How many fleep who kept the world awake?
With luftre, and with noife! has death proclaim'd
A truce, and hung his fated lance on high !
'Tis brandifh'd ftill; nor fhall the present year
Be more tenacious of her human leaf,
Or fpread of feeble life a thinner fall.

But needlefs monuments to wake the thought;
Life's gayeft fcenes fpeak man's mortality;
Though in a ftyle more florid, full as plain,
As maufoleums, pyramids, and tombs.
What are our nobleft ornaments, but deaths
Turn'd flatterers of life, in paint or marble,
The well-ftain'd canvas, or the featur'd stone?
Our fathers grace, or rather haunt the scene.
Joy peoples her pavilion from the dead.

"Profeft diverfions! cannot thefe escape?"Far from it: These present us with a shroud, And talk of death, like garlands o'er a grave. As fome bold plunderers for bury'd wealth, We ranfack tombs for paftime: from the duft Call up the fleeping hero; bid him tread The scene for our amufement: How like gods We fit; and, wrapt in immortality, Shed gen'rous tears on wretches born to die ; Their fate deploring, to forget our own!

What all the pomps and triumphs of our lives But legacies in bloffom Our lean foil Luxuriant grown, and rank in vanities, From friends interr'd beneath; a rich manure! Like other worms, we banquet on the dead; Like other worms fhall we crawl on, nor know Our prefent frailties, or approaching fate!

Lorenzo, fuch the glories of the world! What is the world itfelf? Thy world-A grave. Where is the duft that has not been alive?

The fpade, the plough, disturb our ancestors;
From human mould we reap our daily bread.
The globe around earth's hollow surface shakes,
And is the ceiling of her fleeping fons.
O'er devastation we blind revels keep;

Whole bury'd towns fupport the dancer's heel.

$133. Solitude. YOUNG. SACRED Solitude! divine retreat!

Choice of the Prudent! envy of the Great! By thy pure ftream, or in thy waving fhade, We court fair wisdom, that celestial maid: Milton.

The

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