« PreviousContinue »
"But virtue can itself advance
"To what the fav'rite fools of chance
By fortune feem'd defign'd:
"Virtue can gain the odds of fate,
A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH,
By the Same.
Y the blue taper's trembling light,
No more I waste the wakeful night,
Intent with endless view to pore
Defcends to meet our eyes below.
The grounds which on the right aspire,
Time was, like thee they life poffest,
Thofe graves, with bending ofier bound,
The flat fmooth ftones that bear a name,
The chiffel's flender help to fame,
(Which ere our fet of friends decay
Men, half ambitious, all unknown.
Who, while on earth, in fame they live,
Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades,
And all with fober accent cry,
Think, mortal, what it is to die.
Now from yon black and fun'ral yew,
(Ye ravens, cease your croaking din,
Thus fpeaking from among the bones.
When men my scythe and darts fupply,
How great a king of fears am I !
They view me like the laft of things;
They make, and then they dread my ftings;
Fools! if you lefs provok'd your fears,
No more my spectre-form appears.
Death's but a path that must be trod,
of calms, a state of ease
From the rough rage of fwelling feas.
Loofe fcarfs to fall athwart thy weeds,
Nor can the parted body know,