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AWAS in a vale where ofiers grow


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
Now mounting half his morning way
Shone with a fainter bright;
Still fickening, and decaying still,
Dimly he wander'd up the hill,
With his expiring light.

In dark eclipse his chariot roll'd,
The queen of night obfcur'd his gold
Behind her fable wheels;

Nature grew fad to lose the day,
The flowery vales in mourning lay,
In mourning ftood the hills.

Such are our forrows, Clark, I cry'd,
Clouds of the brain grow black, and hide
Our darken'd fouls behind;

In the young morning of our years
Diftempering fogs have climb'd the spheres,
And choke the labouring mind.


Lo, the gay planet rears his head,
And overlooks the lofty shade,

New-brightening all the skies:
But fay, dear partner of my moan,
When will our long eclipse be gone,
Or when our funs arife?

In vain are potent herbs apply'd,
Harmonious founds in vain have try'd
To make the darkness fly:

But drugs would raise the dead as foon,
Or clattering brass relieve the moon,
When fainting in the sky.

Some friendly fpirit from above,
Born of the light, and nurft with love,

Affift our feebler fires :

Force these invading glooms away;
Souls fhould be feen quite through their clay,
Bright as your heavenly choirs.

But if the fogs muft damp the flame,
Gently, kind death, diffolve our frame,
Releafe the prifoner-mind :

Our fouls fhall mount, at thy discharge,
To their bright fource, and shine at large
Nor clouded, nor confin'd.




OW let my cares all bury'd lie,

My griefs for ever dumb :

Your forrows fwell my heart fo high,
They leave my own no room.

Sickness and pains are quite forgot,
The spleen itself is gone;
Plung'd in your woes I feel them not,
Or feel them all in one.

Infinite grief puts fenfe to flight,
And all the foul invades :

So the broad gloom of spreading night
Devours the evening shades.

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,
But I'm the prisoner ftill.

Why was this life for misery made?
Or why drawn out fo long?

Is there no room amongst the dead ?

Or is a wretch too young?

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Move fafter on, great nature's wheel,

Be kind, ye rolling powers,
Hurl my days headlong down the hill
With undistinguish'd hours.

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,
Till grace lift up her head,

Revers'd the forrow and the fong,

And, fimiling, thus she said:

Were kindred fpirits born for cares?
Muft every grief be mine?

Is there a fympathy in tears,
Yet joys refufe to join?

Forbid it, heaven, and raise my love,
And make our joys the fame :
So bliss and friendship join'd above
Mix an immortal flame.

Sorrows are loft in vaft delight
That brightens all the foul,
As deluges of dawning light
O'erwhelm the dusky pole.


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,
Nor is it drawn too long;

Yet, when my vafter hopes perfuade,

I'm willing to be gone.

Faft as ye please roll down the hill,
And hafte away, my years;
Or I can wait my father's will,
And dwell beneath the spheres.

Rife glorious, every future fun,
Gild all my following days,

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.

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