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See her lov'd Lord with speechless anguish bend !
And, mixing tears with his, thy noblest friend,
Thy Pelham turn on heaven his streaming eye:
Again in her, he fees a brother die !
And he, who long, unshaken and serene,
Had death, in each dire form of terror, seen,
Through worlds unknown o'er unknown oceans toit,,
By love subdued, now weeps a confort loft:
Now, sunk to fondness, all the man appears,
His front dejected, and his soul in tears !
Yet more : nor thou the Muse's voice disdaing. Who fondly tries to soothe a father's pain-Let thy calm eye survey the suffering ball : See kingdoms round thee verging to their fall! What spring had promis’d and what autumn yields, , The bread of thousands, ravith'd from their fields ! See youth and age, th' ignoble and the great, Swept to one grave, in one promiseuous fate! Hear Europe groan! hear all her nations mourn ! And be a private wound with patience borne.
Think too: and reason will confirm the thought.: Thy cares, for her, are to their period bronght. Yes, the, fair pattern to a failing age, With wit, chastis’d, with sprightly, temper, fage;.. Whom each endearing name could recominend, Whom all became, wife, after, daughter, friend, Unwarp'd by folly, and by vice unstain’d, The prize of virtue has, for ever, gain'd! From life escap'd, and safe on that calm Thore Where în and pain and error are no moreg
She now no change, nor you no fear can feel :
Death, to her fame, has fix'd th' eternal seal !
Y midnight hades, o'er Nature spread !
Dumb silence of the dreary hour!
In honour of th' approaching dead,
awful terrors pour.. Yes, pour arou
round, On this pale ground, Through all this deep surrounding gloom,,
The fober thought,
The tear untaught,
Those meetest mourners at a tomb.
Lo! as the surplic'd train draw near
To this last mansion of mankinder
The flow sad bell, the fable bier,
In holy musings wrap the mind !!
And while their beam,
With trembling stream, Attending tapers faintly dart;
Each mouldering bone,
Each sculptor'd stone, Strikes mute instruction to the heart!
Now, let the sacred organ blow,
With folemn pause, and sounding flow :
Now, let the voice due measure keep,
In strains that figh, and words that weep;
Till all the vocal current blended roll,
Not to depress, but lift the soaring soul.
To lift it in the Maker's praife,
Who first inform'd our frame with breath:
And, after some few stormy days,
Now, gracious, gives us o'er to Death.
No King of Fears
In him appears,
Who shuts the scene of human woes:
Beneath his shade
T'he dead alone find true repose.
Then, while we mingle dust with duft,
To One, fupremely good and wife,
Raise halellujahs ! God is just,
And man most happy, when he dies !
His winter past,
Fair spring at last Receives him on her flowery shore;
Where Pleasure's rose
And fin and sorrow are no more!
TO MIRA. FROM THE COUNTRY.
AT this late hour, the world lies huth'd below,
Nor to blow.
Now walks mute Midnight, darkling o'er the plain,
Rest, and soft-footed Silence, in his train,
To bless the cottage, and renew the swain.
These all-asleep, 'me all-awake they find j
Nor reft, nor filence, charm the lover's mind,
Already, I a thousand torments prove,
The thousand torments of divided love :
The rolling thought, impatient in the breast;
The fluttering wish on wing, that will not rest;
Desire, whose kindled flames, undying, glow;
Knowledge of distant bliss, and present woe;
Unhush'd, unsleeping all, with me they dwell,
Children of absence, and of loving well!
These pale the cheek, and cloud the chearless eye,
Swell the swift tear, and heave the frequent figh:
These reach the heart, and bid the health decline;
And these, o Mira! these are truly mine.
She, whose sweet smile would gladden all the grove,
Whose mind is music, and whose looks are love.;
She, gentle power! victorious softness !--She,
Mira, is far from hence, from love, and me;
Yet, in my every thought, her form I find,
Her looks, her words her world of charms combin'd!
Sweetness is hier's, and unaffected ease;
The native wit, that was not taught to please.
Whatever softly animates the face,
The eye's attemper'd fire, the winning grace,
Th' unstudy'd smile, the blush that nature warms,
And all the graceful negligence of charmst
Ha! while I gaze, a thousand ardours rise ;
fir'd bosom fafhes from my eyes.
Oh! melting mildness! miracle of charms !
Receive my soul within those folding arms !
On that dear bosom let my wishes rest--
Oh! softer than the turtle's downy breaft!
And fee! where Love himself is waiting near!
Here let me ever dwell - for heaven is here!
Written in a STATE OF MELANCHOLY.
With thee, behold all ravag'd nature mourn.
Hail the dim empire of thy darling night,
That spreads, flow-Shadowing, o'er the vanquish'd light
Look out, with joy; the Ruler of the day,
Faint, as thy hopes, emits a glimmering ray:
Already exil'd to the utmost fky,
Hither, oblique, he turn'd his clouded eye.
Lo! from the limits of the wintery pole,
Mountainous clouds, in rude confufion, roll: