Altho' more lasting than them all,
Or e'en the poet's highest strain,
His works, as long as wheels this ball,
Shall his great memory fuftain.
May from your learned Band arise
-Newtons to fhine thro' future times,
And bring down knowledge from the skies,
To plant on wild barbarian climes.
Till nations, few degrees from brutes,
Be brought into each
proper road,
Which leads to wisdom's happiest fruits,
To know their Saviour and their God.
TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. FORBES OF NEWHALL.
АH, life! thou short uncertain blaze,
Scarce worthy to be wifh'd or lov'd,
When by strict death so many ways,
So foon, the sweetest are remov'd!
In prime of life and lovely glow,
The dear Brucina muft fubmit; Nor could ward off the fatal blow,
With every beauty, grace, and wit.
If outward charms, and temper sweet,
The cheerful smile, and thought fublime,
Could have preferv'd, fhe ne'er had met
A change till death had funk with time.
Her foul glanc'd with each heavenly ray,
Her form with all thofe beauties fair
For which young brides and mothers pray,
And wifh for to their infant care.
Sour spleen or anger, paffion rude,
These oppofites to peace and heaven,
Ne'er pal'd her cheek, nor fir'd her blood; Her mind was ever calm and even.
Come, faireft nymphs, and gentle swains,
Give loose to tears of tender love;
Strew fragrant flowers on her remains,
While fighing round her grave you move.
In mournful notes your pain express,
While with reflection you run o'er,
How excellent, how good fhe was :-
She was, alas!-but is no more!
Yet piously correct your moan,
And raise religious thoughts on high,
After her spotlefs foul, that 's gone
To joys that ne'er can fade or die.
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