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ODE on SOLITUDE'.

APPPY the man, whofe with and care

HA

A few paternal acres bound,

Content to breathe his native air,

In his own ground.

Whofe herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whofe flocks fupply him with attire,
Whose trees in fummer yield him shade,

In winter fire.

Bleft, who can unconcern'dly find

6

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Sound fleep by night; ftudy and ease,

Together mixt; sweet recreation:

And innocence, which most does please

With meditation.

Thus let me live, unfeen, unknown,

Thus unlamented let me die,

Steal from the world, and not a stone

Tell where I lie.

15

This was a very early production of our Author, written at

about twelve years old. P.

The dying Chriftian to his SOUL.

V

OD E3.

I.

ITAL spark of heav'nly flame :
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying,
Oh the pain, the blifs of dying!
Ceafe, fond Nature, cease thy ftrife,
And let me languish into life.

II.

Hark! they whisper; Angels fay,

Sifter Spirit, come away.

What is this absorbs me quite ?

Steals my fenfes, shuts my fight,

Drowns my fpirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death?

REMARKS.

5

This ode was written in imitation of the famous fonnet of Hadrian to his departing foul; but as much fuperior to his original in fenfe and fublimity, as the Chriftian Religion is to the Pagan,

III.

The world recedes; it disappears!

Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears

With founds feraphic ring:

Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O Grave! where is thy Victory?

O Death! where is thy Sting?

A N

ESSAY

O N

CRITICISM.

Written in the Year M DCC IX.

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