To Mr. NICHOLAS CLARK. THE COMPLAINT. AWAS in a vale where ofiers grow TWA By murmuring ftreams we told our woe, And mingled all our cares: Friendship fat pleas'd in both our eyes, In both the weeping dews arife, And drop alternate tears. The vigorous monarch of the day In dark eclipse his chariot roll'd, Nature grew fad to lose the day, Such are our forrows, Clark, I cry'd, In the young morning of our years Lo, Lo, the gay planet rears his head, New-brightening all the skies: In vain are potent herbs apply'd, But drugs would raise the dead as foon, Some friendly fpirit from above, Affift our feebler fires : Force these invading glooms away; But if the fogs muft damp the flame, Our fouls fhall mount, at thy discharge, The The AFFLICTIONS of a FRIEND. N OW let my cares all bury'd lie, My griefs for ever dumb : Your forrows fwell my heart fo high, Sickness and pains are quite forgot, Infinite grief puts fenfe to flight, So the broad gloom of spreading night Thus am I born to be unbleft! This fympathy of woe Drives my own tyrants from T'admit a foreign foe. my breaft Sorrows in long fucceffion reign; Their iron rod I feel: Friendship has only chang'd the chain, Why was this life for misery made? Is there no room amongst the dead ? Or is a wretch too young? P 2 1702 Move Move fafter on, great nature's wheel, Be kind, ye rolling powers, Be dufky, all my rifing funs, Nor fmile upon a flave: Darkness, and death, make hafte at once To hide me in the grave. The Reverse: Or, The Comforts of a Friend. THUS nature tun'd her mournful tongue, Revers'd the forrow and the fong, And, fimiling, thus she said: Were kindred fpirits born for cares? Is there a fympathy in tears, Forbid it, heaven, and raise my love, Sorrows are loft in vaft delight Pleasures Pleasures in long fucceffion reign, And all my powers employ : Friendship but shifts the pleafing scene, And fresh repeats the joy. Life has a foft and filver thread, Yet, when my vafter hopes perfuade, I'm willing to be gone. Faft as ye please roll down the hill, Rife glorious, every future fun, But make the laft dear moment known By well-diftinguish'd rays. To the Right Honourable JOHN Lord CUTTS. At the Siege of Namur. The Hardy SOLDIER. "WHY is man fo thoughtless grown? Why guilty fouls in hafte to die? "" Venturing the leap to worlds unknown, "Heedlefs to arms and blood they fly. |