Yet harafs'd as they are, their face still wears

The reverend comeliness of green old age;
No ftains their mind from worldly science bears:
Their ray of knowledge gleams from Nature's page.

The few plain rules her fimple leffons give,

They ftill thro' life with pleas'd attention ply; Their helpless offspring bid them wish to live, Their breathlefs parents bid them learn to die.

And furely Heaven, whose penetrating fight
Pierces the foul, and reads it's inmoft
groan,
Must see Content, with more fincere delight,

Toil in the mine, than triumph on the throne.

See Charles*, more pleas'd, within the convent's gloom,
Seeking the flaves calm nights, their temp'rate days,
And peaceful paffage to the private tomb,

Than diadem'd with glory's crimson rays.

E'en the proud fage, whose deep mysterious brain
Has reafon'd all the balm of hope away;
Convinc'd that learning's but ingenious pain,
Might hail their happier lot, and fighing say-

‹ O had I thus, within the dark profound,
By daily labour earn'd my daily food;

Or with yon feedman fow'd the quick'ning ground,
Or cleav'd with ponderous axe the groaning wood!

Full many an hour, that now, tho' fped with art,
On flow and dufky pinions fullen flies;
of heart,

• Full many an anxious with, or pang

That Reason's boafted anodyne defies,

* Charles V. of Spain, who in the full blaze of his glory refigned the throne

to his fon Philip, and retir'd to a convent in Eftremadura.

• Had

• Had ne'er been born. Nor had th' uneafy mind,
< Pent in the prison of this mortal mould,
• Felt it's etherial energy confin'd,

• It's brightest sunshine in dark clouds enroll'd.

• But native fenfe her modeft course had run ;

Her faintly luftre untaught virtue spread ;

• Health crown'd my toils; and, ere the day was done, • Sound fleep beneath fome alder's ruftling fhade.

• Then, as I ftole down life's declining hill,

• Here nature's gifts had furnish'd nature's needs; • The brook's cold beverage every latent ill

Had ftarv'd, that cloyfter'd Contemplation feeds.

Till in the peaceful shade of this lone bower,
• Or near yon shatter'd tower, in filence laid,
The orient orb, that watch'd my natal hour,
Had brightly glitter'd o'er my mouldering head.'

EL EGY II.

TO SICKNESS.

OW blythe the flowery graces of the spring

How
H°

From Nature's wardrobe come: and hark how gay

Each glittering insect, hovering on the wing,
Sings it's glad welcome to the fields of May!

They gaze with greedy eye each beauty o'er ;
They fuck the sweet breath of the blushing rofe;

Sport in the gale, or fip the rainbow shower:

Their life's fhort day no pause of pleasure knows,

Like their's, dread Power, my chearful morn display'd
The flattering promise of a golden noon;
Till each gay cloud, that sportive Nature spread,
Died in the gloom of thy diftemper'd frown.

Yes; ere I told my two and twentieth year,

Swift from thy quiver flew the deadly dart ; Harmless it pafs'd 'mid many a blythe compeer, And found it's fated entrance near my heart,

Pale as I lay beneath thy ebon wand,

I saw them rove thro' Pleafure's flow'ry field: I faw Health paint them with her rofy hand, Eager to burst my bonds, but forc'd to yield.

Yet while this mortal cot of mouldering clay
Shakes at the stroke of thy tremendous power,
Ah, muft the tranfient tenant of a day

Bear the rough blast of each tempestuous hour!

Say, fhall the terrors thy pale flag unfolds,

Too rigid queen! unnerve the foul's bright powers; Till with a joylefs fmile the eye beholds

Art's magick charms, and Nature's fairy bowers!

No; let me follow ftill, thofe bowers among,
Her flowery footsteps, as the goddess goes ;
Let me, juft lifted 'bove th' unletter'd throng,
Read the few books the learned few compofe:

And fuffer, when thy awful pleasure calls

The foul to fhare her frail companion's fmart; Yet fuffer me to taste the balm that falls

From Friendship's tongue, fo fweet upon the heart.

Then,

Then, tho' each trembling nerve confefs thy frown,
E'en till this anxious being shall become
But a brief name upon a little ftone,

Without one murmur I embrace my doom.

For many a virtue, fhelter'd from mankind,
Lives calm with thee, and lord o'er each defire
And many a feeble frame, whofe mighty mind.
Each mufe has touch'd with her immortal fire.

E'en he *, fole terror of a venal age,

The tuneful bard, whose philofophick soul,
With fuch bright radiance glow'd on Virtue's page,
Learn'd many a leffon from thy moral school.

He too †, who mounts, and keeps his distant way,'
His daring mind thy humanizing glooms

Have temper'd with a melancholy ray,

And taught to warble 'mid the village tombs.

Yes, goddess; to thy temple's deep recefs

I come; and lay for ever at it's door

The fyren throng of Follies numberlefs,

Nor wish their flattering fongs fhould foothe me more.

Thy decent garb fhall o'er my limbs be spread,
Thy hand shall lead me to thy fober train,
Who here retir'd, with penfive Pleasure tread
The filent windings of thy dark domain.

Hither the cherub Charity fhalf fly

From her bright orb, and brooding o'er my mind, For mifery raise a sympathizing figh,

Pardon for foes, and love for human kind :

Mr. Pope. † Mr. Gray.

Then

Then, while Ambition's trump, from age to age,

It's flaughter'd millions boasts; while Fame shall rear
Her deathless trophies o'er the bard and fage,
Be mine the widow's figh, the orphan's prayer!

DEATH.

BY CHARLES EMILY, ESQ

I.

HE feftive roar of laughter, the warm glow
Of brifk-ey'd joy, and friendship's genial bowl,
Wit's feafon'd converfe, and the liberal flow

Of unfufpicious youth, profuse of soul,
Delight not ever; from the boisterous fcene
Of riot far, and Comus' wild uproar,
From Folly's crowd, whofe vacant brow ferene
Was never knit to Wisdom's frowning lore,
Permit me, ye time-hallow'd domes, ye piles
Of rude magnificence, your folemn rest,
Amid your fretted vaults and length'ning ifles,
Lonely to wander; no unholy gueft,
That means to break, with facrilegious tread,
The marble flumbers of your monumented dead.

II.

Permit me with fad mufings, that inspire

Unlabour'd numbers apt, your filence drear
Blameless to wake, and with th' Orphean lyre
Fitly attemper'd, foothe 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
Thro' the green bofom of the spawny main,

And