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What groan was that, Lorenzo ?-Furies! rise, Then sink again, and quiver into death,
And drown in your less execrable yell

That most pathetic herald of our own!
Britannia's shame. There took her gloomy Aight, How read we such sad scenes? As sent to man
On wing impetuous, a black sullen soul,

In perfect vengeance? No; in pity sent;
Blasted from Hell, with horrid lust of death. To melt him down, like wax, and then impress,
Thy friend, the brave, the gallant Altamont, Indelible, Death's image on his heart;
So calld, so thought-And then he fled the field. Bleeding for others, trembling for himself.
Less base the fear of death, than fear of life. We bleed, we tremble, we forget, we smile.
O Britain, infamous for suicide!

The mind turns fool, before the cheek is dry.
An island in thy manners, far disjoin'd

Our quick-returning folly cancels all;
From the whole world of rationals beside!

As the tide rushing rases what is writ
In ambient waves plunge thy polluted head, In yielding sands, and smoothes the letter'd shore.
Wash the dire stain, nor shock the continent. Lorenzo! hast thou ever weigh'd a sigh?
But thou be shock'd, while I detect the cause Or studied the philosophy of tears?
Of self-assault, expose the monster's birth, (A science, yet unleciurd in our schools !)
And bid abhorrence hiss it round the world. Hast thou descended deep into the breast,
Blame not thy clime, nor chide the distant Sun; And seen their source? If not, descend with me,
The Sun is innocent, thy clime absolv'd :

And trace these briny rivulets to their springs.
Immortal climes kind Nature never made.

Our funeral tears from different causes rise,
The cause I sing, in Eden might prevail,

As if from separate cisterns in the soul,
And proves, it is thy folly, not thy fate.

Of various kinds, they flow. From tender hearts,
The soul of man (let man in homage bow, By soft contagion callid, some burst at once,
Who names his soul,) a native of the skies ! And stream obsequious to the leading eye.
High-born, and free, her freedom should maintain, Some ask more time, by curious art distillid.
Unsold, unmortgag'd for Earth's little bribes. Some hearts, in secret hard, unapt to melt,
Th' illustrious stranger, in this foreign land, Struck by the magic of the public eye,
Like strangers, jealous of her dignity,

Like Moses' smitten rock, gush out amain.
Studious of home, and ardent to return,

Some weep to share the fate of the deceas'd,
Of Earth suspicious, Earth's enchanted cup So high in merit, and to them so dear.
With cool reserve light touching, should indulge They dwell on praises, which they think they share,
On immortality, her godlike taste,

(there. And thus, without a blush, commend themselves. There take large draughts; make her chief banquet Some mourn, in proof, that something they could But some reject this sustenance divine ;

love : To beggarly vile appetites descend ;

They weep not to relieve their grief, but show.
Ask alms of Earth, for guests that came from Heaven: Some weep in perfect justice to the dead,
Sink into slaves; and sell, for present hire,

As conscious all their love is in arrear.
Their rich reversion, and (what shares its fate) Some mischievously weep, not unappriz’d.
Their native freedom, to the prince who sways Tears, sometimes, aid the conquest of an eye.
This nether world. And when his payments fail, With what address the soft Ephesians draw
When his foul basket gorges them no more, Their sable net-work o'er entangled hearts !
Or their palld palates lothe the basket full ; As seen through crystal, how their roses glow,
Are instantly, with wild demoniac rage,

While liquid pearl runs trickling down their cheek!
For breaking all the chains of Providence, Of hers not prouder Egypt's wanton queen,
And bursting their confinement; though fast barr'd Carousing gems, herself dissolv'd in love.
By laws divine and human ; guarded strong Some weep at death, abstracted from the dead,
With horrors doubled to defend the pass,

And celebrate, like Charles, their own decease.
The blackest, nature, or dire guilt can raise ; By kind construction some are deem'd to weep,
And moated round with fathomless destruction, Because a decent veil conceals their joy.
Sure to receive, and whelm them in their fall. Some weep in earnest, and yet weep in vain;

Such, Britons! is the cause, to you unknown, As deep in indiscretion, as in woe.
Or worse, o'erlook'd; o'erlook'd by magistrates, Passion, blind passion! impotently pours
Thus criminals themselves. I grant the deed Tears, that deserve more tears; while reason sleeps
Is madness : but the madness of the heart. Or gazes like an idiot, unconcernd;
And what is that? Our utmost bound of guilt. Nor comprehends the meaning of the storm;
A sensual, unreflecting life, is big

Knows not it speaks to her, and her alone.
With monstrous births, and suicide, to crown Irrationals all sorrow are beneath,
The black infernal brood. The bold to break That noble gift! that privilege of man!
Heaven's law supreme, and desperately rush From sorrow's pang, the birth of endless joy.
Through sacred Nature's murder, on their own, But these are barren of that birth divine:
Because they never think of death, they die. They weep impetuous, as the summer storm,
"Tis equally man's duty, glory, gain,

And full as short! The cruel grief soon lam’d,
At once to shun, and meditale, his end.

They make a pastime of the stingless tale ;
When by the bed of languishment we sit,

Far as the deep-resounding knell they spread
(The seat of wisdom! if our choice, not fate,) The dreadful news, and hardly feel it more.
Or, o'er our dying friends, in anguish hang, No grain of wisdom pays them for their woe.
Wipe the cold dew, or stay the sinking head, Half-round the globe, the tears pump'd up by death
Number their moments, and, in every clock, Are spent in watering vanities of life;
Start at the voice of an eternity ;

In making folly flourish still more fair,
See the dim lamp of life just feebly lift

When the sick soul, her wonted stay withdrawn,
An agonizing beam, at us to gaze,

Reclines on earth, and sorrows in the dust;

Instead of learning, there, her true support, Ask thought for joy; grow rich, and hoard within.
Though there thrown down her true support to learn, Think you the soul, when this life's raules cease,
Without Heaven's aid, impatient to be blest, Has nothing of more manly to succeed ?
She crawls to the next shrub, or bramble vile, Contract the taste immortal : learn e'en now
Though from the stately cedar's arms she fell ; To relish what alone subsists hereafier.
With stale, forsworn embraces, clings anew, Divine, or none, henceforth your joys for ever,
The stranger weds, and blossoms, as before, Of age the glory is, to wish to die.
In all the fruitless fopperies of life:

That wish is praise, and promise; it applauds
Presents her weed, well fancied, at the ball, Past life, and promises onr future bliss.
And raffles for the death's-head on the ring.

What weakness see not children in their sires ? So wept Aurelia, till the destin'd youth

Grand-climacierical absurdities!
Stepp'd in, with his receipt for making smiles, Grey-hair'd authority, to faults of youth,
And blanching sables into bridal bloom.

How shocking! it makes folly thrice a fool,
So wept Lorenzo fair Clarissa's fale;

And our first childhood might our last despise. Who gave that angel boy, on whom he dotes ; Peace and esteem is all that age can hope. And died to give him, orphan'd in his birth! Nothing but wisdom gives the first ; the last, Not such, Narcissa, my distress for thee.

Nothing, but the repute of being wise. I'll make an altar of thy sacred tomb,

Folly bars both ; our age is quite undone. To sacrifice to wisdom. What wast thou?

What folly can be ranker? Like our shadows, Young, gay, and fortunate !" Each yields a theme. Our wishes lengthen, as our sun declines. I'll dwell on each, to shun thought more severe; No wish should loiter, then, this side the grave. (Heaven knows I labor with severer still!)

Our hearts should leave the world, before the knell I'll dwell on each, and quite exhaust thy death. Calls for our carcasses to mend the soil. A soul without reflection, like a pile

Enough to live in tempest, die in port: Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.

Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat And, first, thy youth. What says it to grey hairs ? Defects of judgment, and the will subdue ; Narcissa, I'm become thy pupil now

Walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore Early, bright, transient, chaste, as morning dew, Or that vast ocean it must sail so soon; She sparkled, was exhal'd, and went to Heaven. And put good-works on board ; and wait the wind Time on this head has snow'd ; yet still 'tis borne That shortly blows us into worlds unknown; Alofi; nor thinks but on another's grave.

If unconsider'd 100, a dreadful scene! Cover'd with shame I speak it, age severe

All should be prophets to themselves; foresee Old worn-out vice sets down for virtue fair; Their future fate ; their future fate foretaste ; With graceless gravity, chastising youth,

This art would waste the bitterness of death. That youth chastis'd surpassing in a fault.

The thought of death alone, the fear destroys. Father of all, forgetfulness of death :

A disaffection to that precious thought As if, like objects passing on the sight,

Is inore than midnight darkness on the soul, Death had advanc'd too near us to be seen :

Which sleeps beneath it, on a precipice, Or, that life's loan time ripen'd into right;

Puff'd off by the first blast, and lost for ever. And men might plead prescription from the grave; Dost ask, Lorenzo, why so warmly prest, Deathless, from repetition of reprieve.

By repetition hammer'd on thine ear, Deathless ? far from it! such are dead already: The thought of death? That thought is the machine, Their hearts are buried, and the world their grave. The grand machine! that heaves us from the dust,

Tell me, some god! my guardian angel! tell, And rears us into men. That thought, plied home, What thus infatuates? what enchantment plants Will soon reduce the ghastly precipice The phantom of an age, 'twixt us and death O'er-hanging Hell, will sotien the descent, Already at the door? He knocks, we hear, And gently slope our passage to the grave; And yet we will not hear. What mail defends How warmly to be wish'd! What heart of flesh Our untouch'd hearts? What miracle turns off Would trifle with tremendous ? dare extremes ! The pointed thought, which from a thousand quivers Yawn o'er the fate of infinite ? What hand, Is daily darted, and is daily shunn'd?

Beyond the blackest brand of censure bold, We stand, as in a battle, throngs on throngs (To speak a language too well known to thee,) Around us falling; wounded oft ourselves ; Would at a moment give its all to chance, Though bleeding with our wounds, immortal still !

And stamp the die for an eternity ? We see Time's furrows on another's brow,

Aid me, Narcissa, aid me to keep pace And Death intrench'd, preparing his assault. With Destiny; and ere her scissars cut How few themselves in that just mirror sce! My thread of life, to break this tougher thread Or, seeing, draw their inference as strong!

Of moral death, that ties me to the world. There death is certain; doubtful here: he must, Sting thou my slumbering reason to send forth And soon; w may, within an age, expire. (green; A thought of observation on the foe; Though grey our heads, our thoughts and aims are To sally; and survey the rapid march Like damag'd clocks, whose hand and bell dissent; Of his ten thousand messengers to man; Folly sings six, while Nature points at twelve. Who, Jehu-like, behind him turns them all.

Absurd longevity! More, more, it cries : All accident apart, by Nature signd, More lise, more wealth, more trash of every kind. My warrant is gone out, though dormant yet; And wherefore mad for more, when relish fails? Perhaps behind one moment lurks my fate. Object, and appetite, must club for joy ;

Must I then forward only look for Death? Shall folly labor hard to mend the bow,

Backward I turn mine eye, and find him there Baubles, I mean, that strike us from without, Man is a self-survivor every year. While Nature is relaxing every string?

Man, like a stream, is in perpetual flow

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Death 's a destroyer of quotidian prey.

And opens more the character of death;
My youth, my noon-tide, his ; my yesterday, Ill-known to thee, Lorenzo! this thy vaunt:
The bold invader shares the present hour.

“ Give Death his due, the wretched, and the old ; Each moment on the former shuts the grave. E'en let him sweep his rubbish to the grave; While man is growing, life is in decrease ;

Let him not violate kind Nature's laws, And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb.

But own man bom to live as well as die." Our birth is nothing but our death begun;

Wretched and old thou givist him; young and gay As tapers waste that instant they take fire. He takes; and plunder is a tyrant's joy.

Shall we then fear, lest that should come to pass, What if I prove, That furthest from the fear, Which comes to pass each moment of our lives? Are often nearest to the stroke of fate ?" If fear we must, let that death turn us pale,

All more than common, menaces an end.
Which murders strength and ardor ; what remains A blaze betokens brevity of life:
Should rather call on death, than dread his call. As if bright embers should emit a flame,
Ye partners of my fault, and my decline ! Glad spirits sparkled from Narcissa's eye,
Thoughtless of death, but when your neighbors And made youth younger, and taught life to live
knell

As Nature's opposites wage endless war,
(Rude visitant!) knocks hard at your dull sense, For this offence, as treason to the deep
And with its thunder scarce obtains your ear! Inviolable stupor of his reign,
Be death your theme, in every place and hour; Where lust, and turbulent ambition, sleep,
Nor longer want, ye monumental sires !

Death took swift vengeance. As he life detests, A brother tomb to tell you ye shall die.

More life is still more odious; and, reduc'd That death you dread (so great is Nature's skill!) By conquest, aggrandizes more his power. Know, you shall court before you shall enjoy. But wherefore aggrandiz'd ? By Heaven's decree,

But you are learn'd; in volumes, deep you sit; To plant the soul on her eternal guard, In wisdom, shallow : pompous ignorance !

In awful expectation of our end. Would you be still more learned than the learn'd? Thus runs Death's dread commission: “ Strike, but so Learn well to know how much need not be known, As most alarms the living by the dead." And what that knowledge, which impairs your sense. Hence stratagem delights him, and surprise, Our needful knowledge, like our needful food, And cruel sport with man's securities. Unhedg'd, lies open in life's common field; Not simple conquest, triumph is his aim : And bids all welcome to the vital feast.

And, where least fear'd, there conquest triumphs most. You scorn what lies before you in the page This proves my bold assertion not 100 bold. Of Nature, and Experience, moral truth :

What are his arts to lay our fears asleep? of indispensable, eternal fruit;

Tiberian arts his purposes wrap up Fruit, on which mortals feeding, turn to gods : In deep dissimulation's darkest night. And dive in science for distinguish'd names, Like princes unconfest in foreign courts, Dishonest fomentation of your pride !

Who travel under cover, Death assumes Sinking in virtue, as you rise in fame.

The name and look of life, and dwells arnong us. Your learning, like the lunar beam, affords

He takes all shapes that serve his black designs : Light, but not heat; it leaves you undevout, Though master of a wider empire far Frozen at heart, while speculation shines.

Than that o'er which the Roman eagle flew.
Awake, ye curious indagators ! fond

Like Nero, he's a fiddler, charioteer,
of knowing all, but what avails you known. Or drives his phaeton in female guise ;
If you would learn Death's character, attend. Quite unsuspected, till, the wheel beneath,
All casts of conduct, all degrees of health,

His disarray'd oblation he devours.
All dies of fortune, and all dates of age,

He most affects the forms least like himself, Together shook in his impartial urn,

His slender self. Hence burly corpulence Come forth at random : or, if choice is made, Is his familiar wear, and sleek disguise. The choice is quite sarcastic, and insults

Behind the rosy bloom he loves to lurk, All bold conjecture, and fond hopes of man. Or ambush in a smile ; or wanton dive What countless multitudes not only leave,

In dimples deep; love's eddies, which draw in But deeply disappoint us, by their deaths! Unwary hearts, and sink them in despair. Though great our sorrow, greater our surprise. Such, on Narcissa's couch he loiter'd long

Like other tyrants, Death delights to smite, Unknown; and, when detected, still was seen What, smitten, most proclaims the pride of power, To smile ; such peace has innocence in death! And arbitrary nod. His joy supreme,

Most happy they! whom least his arts deceive. To bid the wretch survive the fortunate;

One eye on Death, and one full fix'd on Heaven, The feeble wrap th'athletic in his shroud; Becomes a mortal, and immortal man. And weeping fathers build their children's tomb: Long on his wiles a piqu'd and jealous spy, Me thine, Narcissa -What though short thy date? I've seen, or dreamt 1 saw, the tyrant dress ; Virtue, not rolling suns, the mind matures. Lay by his horrors, and put on his smiles. That life is long, which answers life's great end. Say, Muse, for thou remember'st, call it back, The time that bears no fruit, deserves no name; And show Lorenzo the surprising scene; The man of wisdom is the man of years.

If 'twas a dream, his genius can explain. In hoary youth Methusalems may die;

'Twas in a circle of the gay I stood. O how misdated on their flattering tombs!

Death would have enter'd; Nature push'd him back,
Narcissa's youth has lectur'd me thus far. Supported by a doctor of renown,
And can her gaiety give counsel too?

His point he gain'd. Then artfully dismist
That, like the Jews' fam'd oracle of gems, The sage; for Death design'd to be conceal'd.
Sparkles instruction; such as throws new light, He gave an old vivacious usurer
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His mcagre aspect, and his naked bones;

With recent honors, bloom'd with every bliss, In gratitude for plumping up his prey,

Set up in ostentation, made the gaze, A pamper'd spendthrift; whose fantastic air, The gaudy centre, of the public eye, Well-fashion à figure, and cockaded brow,

When fortune ihus has toss d her child in air, He took in change, and underneath the pride Snatcht from the covert of an humble state, Of costly linen, tuck'd his filthy shroud.

How often have I seen him dropt at once, His crooked bow he straiten'd to a cane;

Our morning's envy! and our evening's sigh! And hid his deadly shafts in Myra's eye.

As if her bounties were the signal given, The dreadful masquerader, thus equipt,

|The flowery wreath to mark the sacrifice, Out-sallies on adventures. Ask you where? And call Death's arrows on the destin'd prey. Where is he not? For his peculiar haunts,

High fortune seems in cruel league with fale. Let this suffice; sure as night follows day, Ask you for what? To give his war on man Death treads in pleasure's footsteps round the world. The deeper dread, and more illustrious spoil; When pleasure treads the paths which reason shuns. Thus to keep daring mortals more in awe. When, against reason, riot shuts the door,

And burns Lorenzo sull for the sublime
And gaiety supplies the place of sense,

or life? To hang his airy nest on high,
Then, foremost at the banquet and the ball, On the slight timber of the topmost bough,
Death leads the dance, or stamps the deadly die; Rockt at each breeze, and menacing a fall!
Nor ever fails the midnight howl to crown. Granting grim Death at equal distance there;
Gaily carousing to his gay coinpeers,

Yet peace begins just where ambition ends.
Inly he laughs, to see them laugh at him,

What makes man wretched ? Happiness denied ? As absent far; and when the revel burns,

Lorenzo! no: "I'is happiness disdain'd.
When fear is banish'd, and triumphant thought, She comes 100 meanly drest 10 win our smile;
Calling for all the joys beneath the Moon, And calls herself Content, a homely name!
Against him turns the key. and bids him sup Our flame is transport, and content our scorn.
With their progenitors-he drops his mask ; Ambition turns, and shuts the door against her,
Frowns out at full; they start, despair, expire. And weds a toil, a tempest, in her slead;

Scarce with more sudden terror and surprise, A tempest to warm transport near of kin.
From his black mask of nitre, touch'd by fire, Unknowing what our morial state admits,
He bursts, expands, roars, blazes, and devours. Life's modest joys we ruin, while we raise ;
And is not this triumphant treachery,

And all our ecstasies are wounds to peace;
And more than simple conquest, in the fiend ? Peace, the full portion of mankind below.

And now, Lorenzo, dost thou wrap thy soul And since thy peace is dear, ambitious yonth! In soft security, because unknown

Of fortune fond ! as thoughtless of thy fate! Which moment is commission'd to destroy ?

As late I drew Death's picture, lo stir up In deall's uncertainty thy danger lies.

Thy wholesome fears; now, drawn in contrast, see Is death uncertain? Therefore thou be fit; Gay Fortune's, thy vain hopes to reprimand. Fixt as a sentinel, all eye, all car,

See, high in air, the sportive goddess hangs, All expectation of the coming foe.

Unlocks her casket, spreads her glittering ware, Ronse, stand in arms, nor lean against thy spear; And calls the giddy winds to puff abroad Lest slumber steal one moment o'er thy soul, Her random bounties o'er the gaping throng. And fate surprise thee nodding. Watch, be strong ; All rush rapacious ; friends o'er trodden friends; Thus give each day the merit, and renown, Sons o'er their fathers; subjects o'er their kings; Of dying well; though doom'd but once to die. Priests o'er their gods; and lovers o'er the fair, Nor let life's period hidden, (as from most,) (Still more adorn'd) to snatch the golden shower. Hide too from thee the precious use of life.

Gold glitters most, where virtue shines no more ; Early, not sudden, was Narcissa's fate.

As stars from absent suns have leave to shine. Soon, not surprising, Death his visit paid.

O what a precious pack of votaries
Her thought went forth to meet him on his way, Unkennel'd from the prisons, and the stews,
Nor gaiety forgot it was to die :

Pour in, all opening in their idol's praise ;
Though fortune too, (our third and final theme,) All, ardent, eye each wafiure of her hand,
As an accomplice, play'd her gaudy plumes, And, wide expanding their voracious jaws,
And every glittering gewgaw, on her sight, Morsel on morsel swallow down unchew'd,
To dazzle, and debauch it from its mark.

Untasted, through mad appetite for more ; Death's dreadful advent is the mark of man ; Gorg'd to the throat, yet lean and ravenous still. And every thought that misses it, is blind. Sagacious all, to trace the smallest game, Fortune, with youth and gaiely, conspir'd

And bold to seize the greatest. If (blest chance !) To weave a triple wreath of happiness

Court-zephyrs sweetly breathe, they lanch, they fiy, (If happiness on Earth) to crown her brow. O'er jusi, o'er sacred, all-torbidden ground, And could Death charge through such a shining Drunk with the burning scent of place or power, shield ?

Staunch to the foot of lucre, till they die. That shining shield invites the tyrant's spear, Or, if for men you take them, as I mark As if to damp our elevated aims,

Their manners, thou their various fates survey. And strongly preach humility to man.

With aim mis-measur’d, and impetuous speed,
O how portentous is prosperity!

Some darting, strike their ardent wish far off,
Hnw, comet-like, it threatens, while it shines ! Through fury to possess it: some succeed,
Few years but yield us proof of Death's anbition, But stumble, and let fall the taken prize.
To cull his victims from the fairest fold,

From some, by sudden blasts, 'tis whirl'd away, And sheath his shafts in all the pride of life. And ludg'd in bosoms that ne'er dreamt of gain. When Anoded with abundance, purpled o'er To some it sticks so close, that, when torn off,

Torn is the man, and mortal is the wound. Survive myself ?—That cures all other woe.
Some, o'er-enamour'd of their bags, run mad, Narcissa lives; Philander is forgot.
Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread. O the soft commerce! O the tender ties,
Together some (unhappy rivals !) seize,

Close-twisted with the fibres of the heart!
And rend abundance into poverty ;

Which, broken, break them; and drain off the soul
Loud croaks the raven of the law, and smiles : Of human joy; and make it pain to live-
Smiles too the goddess; but smiles most at those, And is it then to live? When such friends part,
(Just victims of exorbitant desire!)

"Tis the survivor dies—My heart, no more.
Who perish at their own request, and, whelm'd
Beneath her load of lavish grants, expire.
Fortune is famous for her numbers slain;
The number small, wbich happiness can bear.

NIGHT THE SIXTH.
Though various for a while their fates ; at last
One curse involves them all : at Death's approach,

THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED.
All read their riches backward into loss,
And mourn, in just proportion to their store.

IN TWO PARTS.
And Death's approach (if orthodox my song)
Is hasten'd by the lure of Fortune's smiles.

Containing the Nature, Proof, and Importance, of And art thou still a glutton of bright gold ?

Immortality.
And art thou still rapacious of thy ruin?

Part I.
Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow;
A blow which, while it executes, alarms;
And startles thousands with a single fall.

Where, among other Things, Glory and Riches are As when some stately growth of oak, or pine,

particularly considered. Which nods aloft, and proudly spreads her shade, The Sun's defiance, and the flock's defence;

TO TIIE RIGHT HON. HENRY PELHAM, FIRST LORD

COMMISSIONER OF THE TREASURY, AND CHANCELBy the strong strokes of laboring hinds subdued,

LOR OF THE EXCHEQUER.
Loud groans her last, and, rushing from her height
In cumbrous ruin, thunders to the ground:
The conscious forest trembles at the shock,

Preface.
And hill, and stream, and distant dale, resound. Few ages have been deeper in dispute about reli.

These high-aim'd darts of Death, and these alone, gion than this. The dispute about religion, and Should I collect, my quiver would be full.

the practice of it, seldom go together. The shorter, A quiver, which, suspended in mid air,

therefore, the dispute, the better.

I think it may Or near Heaven's Archer, in the zodiac, hung, be reduced to this single question, Is man immor(So could it be,) should draw the public eye,

tal, or is he not? If he is not, all our disputes are The gaze and contemplation of mankind!

mere amusements, or trials of skill. In this case, A constellation awful, yet benign,

truth, reason, religion, which give our discourses To guide the gay through life's lempestuous wave; such pomp and solemnity, are (as will be shown) Nor suffer them to strike the common rock,

mere empty sound, without any meaning in them. " From greater danger, to grow more secure,

But if man is immortal, it will behove him to be And, wrapt in happiness, forget their fate."

very serious about eternal consequences ; or, in Lysander, happy past the common lot,

other words, to be truly religious. And this great Was warnd of danger, but too gay to fear.

fundamental truth, unestablished, or unawakened He wood the fair Aspasia : she was kind :

in the minds of men, is, I conceive, the real In youth, form, fortune, fame, they both were blest; source and support of all our infidelity; how reAll who knew, envied; yet in envy lov'd:

mote soever the particular objections advanced Can fancy form more finisht happiness ?

may seem to be from it. Fixt was the nuptial hour. Her stately dome Sensible appearances affect most men much more Rose on the sounding beach. The glittering spires than abstract reasonings; and we daily see bodies Float in the wave, and break against the shore : drop around us, but the soul is invisible. The So break those glittering shadows, human joys. power which inclination has over the judgment, is The faithless morning smild: he takes his leave, greater than can be well conceived by those that To re-embrace, in ecstasies, at eve.

have not had an experience of it; and of what The rising storm forbids. The news arrives :

numbers is it the sad interest that souls should not Untold, she saw it in her servant's eye.

survive! The heathen world confessed, that they She felt it seen (her heart was apt to feel);

rather hoped, than firmly believed, immortality! And, drown'd, without the furious ocean's aid, And how many heathens have we still amongst In suffocating sorrows, shares his tomb.

us! The sacred page assures us, that life and imNow, round the sumptuous, bridal monument, mortality is brought to light by the Gospel : but by The guilty billows innocently roar;

how many is the Gospel rejected, or overlooked! And the rough sailor, passing, drops a tear;

From these considerations, and from my being A tear?-Can tears suffice ?-But not for me. accidentally privy to the sentiments of some par. How vain our efforts! and our arts how vain! ticular persons, I have been long persuaded that The distant train of thought I took to shun,

most, if not all, our infidels (whatever name they Has thrown me on my fate-- These died together; take, and whatever scheme, for argument's sake, Happy in ruin! undivorc'd by death!

and to keep themselves in countenance, they paOr ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace

tronize) are supported in their deplorable error, Narcissa! Pity bleeds at thought of thee.

by some doubt of their immortality, at the bottom. Yet thou wasi only near me; not myself.

And I am satisfied, that men once thoroughly con

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