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Digs through whole rows of kindred and acquaintance,
By far his juniors.Scarce a skull's caft up,
But well he knew its owner, and can tell
Some paffage of his life.-

The following comparison, applied to time, is happily imagined.

Yet treads more foft than e'er did midnight thief,

Who flides his hand under the mifer's pillow,

And carries off his prize

The hand of Shakspeare could not poffibly have gone higher, or have touched a fituation wit 'greater nicety.

Few fimiles can exceed the following for elegant fimplicity. Among the various tenants of thị grave, he enumerates

-The long-demurring maid,

Whofe lonely unappropriated sweets

Smil'd, like yon knot of cowflips on the cliff,

Not to be come at by the willing hand.

Another fimile, near the end of the poem, where he mentions the averfion even of the guid», death, beginning, So bave 1 feen upon a fummer's eve, is natural and striking.

In Blair, it is difficult to discover any material traces of imitation, or even to conjecture who w his favourites among the poets of his country. His style of compofition is his own, and his verit tion peculiar to himself. He undoubtedly, however, poffeffed a taste for our elder poets, the sient we'ls of English undefiled, from whom he probably learned the energy, character, and truth of co pofition, and the genuine language of verse; particularly the frequent use of compound epite which are the life of a language, and in which our own is far from being deficient. Blair, defcribing the death of a good man, fays:

By unperceiv'd degrees he wears away,
Yet like the fun feems larger at bis fetting.

The last line is evidently borrowed from Quarles; a writer of true poetical genius, and of am plary virtue, unjustly neglected.

Brave minds oppreft, should (in difpight of fate)

Looke greatest (like the funne) in lowest flate.-Job. Milt.

The teftimonies to the merits of Blair are few, when compared with his deferts. The Grave, they it is written in a flyle that might well delight the learned, and deserve the attention of the white of verse, yet has never been mentioned, till very lately, in any critical work, nor imitated in any po tical compofition. "The Tafk" of Cowper, an ingenious and truly original performance, referbe it only in the fingular combination of pathetic description, comic humour, and serious remonftrato Its popularity, however, must be allowed as an unquestionable authority in its favour; for by judgment of the common, unprejudiced, unpedantic reader, the merit of every poetical compelz must be ultimately decided.

Mr. Pinkerton, the learned and ingenious editor of the "Ancient Scottish Poems, &c."wash first who celebrated the merits of Blair, and fubjected The Grave to the examination of criticie which, though fomewhat too general and indiscriminate, merits attention.

"I know not, fays Mr. Pinkerton," that he wrote any thing else; but The Grave is with thousand common poems. The language is such as Shakspeare would have used; yet he no wh imitates Shakspeare, or uses any expreffion of his. It is frugal and chafte; yet, upon occafion, highr poetical, without any appearance of research. It is unquestionably the best piece of blank verk vi have, fave those of Milton.",

THE GRAVE.

The Houfe appointed for all Living.-JOB.

WHILST fome affect the fun, and fome the fhade, | Long lafh'd by the rude winds. Some rift half down

Some flee the city, fome the hermitage;
Their aims as various, as the roads they take
In journeying through life;-the tafk be mine
To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb;
Th' appointed place of rendezvous, where all
Thefe travellers meet. -Thy fuccours I implore,
Eternal king whofe potent arm sustains
The keys of hell and death.-

thing!

-The grave, dread

10

Men fhiver when thou'rt nam'd: Nature appall'd,
Shakes off her wonted-firmness.Ah! how dark
Thy long-extended realms, and rueful waftes!
Where nought but filence reigns, and night, dark
night,

Dark as was chaos, ere the infant fun
Was roll'd together, or had try'd his beams
Athwart the gloom profound.

The fickly taper, By glimm'ring through thy low-brow'd mifty vaults,

(Furr'd round with mouldy damps, and ropy flime) Lets fall a fupernumerary horror, 20 And only ferves to make thy night more irkfome. Well do I know thee by thy trufty yew, Cheerlefs, unfocial plant; that loves to dwell 'Midft skulls and coffins, epitaphs, and worms: Where light-heel'd ghofts, and vifionary shades, Beneath the wan cold moon (as fame reports) Embody'd, thick, perform their myftic rounds. No other merriment, dull tree, is thine.

See yonder hallow'd fane;-the pious work
Of names once fam'd, now dubious or forgot, 30
And bury'd'midft the wreck of things which were;
There lie interr'd the more illuftrious dead.
The wind is up: hark! how it howls! Methinks
Till now I never heard a found so dreary: [bird,
Doors creak, and windows clap, and night's foul
Rook'd in the fpire, fcreams loud: the gloomy ailes
Black plafter d, and hung round with fhreds of
'fcutcheons

And tatter'd coats of arms, fend back the found
Laden with heavier airs, from the low vaults,
The manfions of the dead.- -Rous'd from their
flumbers,

40

In grim array the grifly spectres rife,
Grin horrible, and obftinately fullen,
País and repafs, hufh'd as the foot of night.
Again the fcreech-owl fhrieks. ungracious found!
I'll hear no more; it makes one's blood run chill.
Quite round the pile, a row of reverend elms,
(Coeval near with that) all ragged show,

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 22. Methinks I know thee, &c.
30: Of thofe that liv'd fome hundred years ago;
Where lie interr'd the more illuftrious dead.
The wind is up, &c.

Their branchlefs trunks; others fo thin a-top,
That fearce two crows could lodge in the fame tree.
Strange things, the neighbours fay, have happen'd

here:

SK Wild fhrieks have iffued from the hollow tombs: Dead men have come again, and walk'd about; And the great bell has toll'd, unrung, untouch'd. (Such tales their cheer at wake or goffoping, When it draws near to witching time of night.)

Oft, in the lone church-yard at night I've feen, By glimpse of moon-fhine chequering through the

trees,

60

The school boy with his fatchel in his hand,
Whistling aloud to bear his courage up,
And lightly tripping o'er the long flat ftones,
(With nettles fkirted, and with mofs o'ergrown),
That tell in homely phrafe who lie below.
Sudden he ftarts, and hears, or thinks he hears,
The found of fomething purring at his heels;
Full faft he flies, and dares not look behind him
Till out of breath he overtakes his fellows;
Who gather round, and wonder at the tale
Of horrid apparition, tall and ghaftly,

That walks at dead of night, or takes his ftand 70
O'er fome new open'd grave; and (ftrange to tell!)
Evanishes at crowing of the cock.

The new-made widow, too, I've fometimes'fpy'd, Sad fight! flow moving o'er the proftrate dead: Liftlefs, fhe crawls along in doleful black, Whilft burfts of forrow gufh from either eye, Faft falling down her now untafted cheek. Prone on the lowly grave of the dear man She drops; whilft bufy meddling memory, In barbarous fucceffion musters up The past endearments of their fofter hours, Tenacious of its theme. Still, ftill the thinks She fees him, and, indulging the fond thought, Clings yet more clofely to the fenfelefs turf, Nor heeds the paffenger who looks that way.

80

Invidious grave-how doft thou rend in funder
Whom love has knit, and fympathy made one?
A tie more ftubborn far than nature's band.
Friendship! myfterious cement of the foul;
Sweetner of life, and folder of fociety,

I owe thee much. Thou hat deferv'd from me,
Far, far beyond what I can ever pay.
Oft have I prov'd the labours of thy love,
And the warm efforts of the gentle heart,
Anxious to pleafe.-Oh! when my friend and I
In fome thick wood have wander'd heedlefs on,
Hid from the vulgar eye, and fat us down

VARIATIONS.

90

69. Of horrid apparition, strait and tall. 86. Invidious grave! thou feparat'ft chief friends That love has bound, &c.

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130

140

Where are the mighty thunderbolts of war? The Roman Cæfars, and the Grecian chiefs, The boat of story? Where the hot-brain'd youth; Who the tiara at his pleasure tore From kings of all the then discover'd globe; And cry'd, forfooth, because his arm was hamper'd, And had not room enough to do its work? Alas! how flim, difhonourably flim, And cram'd into a space we blufh to name! Proud royalty! how alter'd in thy looks! How blank thy features, and how wan thy hue! Son of the morning! whither art thou gone! Where haft thou hid thy many-fpangled head, And the majestic menace of thine eyes Feit from afar? Pliant and powerless now Like new-born infant wound up in his swathes, Or victim tumbled flat upon his back, That throbs beneath the facrificer's knife. Mute, muft thou bear the ftrife of little tongues, And coward infults of the bafe-born crowd; That grudge a privilege thou never hadft, But only hop'd for in the peaceful grave, Of being unmolefted and alone. Arabia's gums and odoriferous drugs, And honours by the herald duly paid In mode and form, ev'n to a very fcruple; Oh cruel irony! thefe come too late; And only mock, whom they were meant to honour. Surely there's not a dungeon-flave that's bury'd In the high-way, unfhrouded and uncoffin'd, But lies as foft, and fleeps as found as he. Sorry pre-eminence of high defcent, Above the bafer born, to rot in ftate.

150

on,

But fee! the well-plumed herfe comes nodding Stately and flow; and properly attended By the whole fable tribe, that painful watch

By letting out their perfons by the hour,
To mimic forrow, when the heart's not fad.
How rich the trappings! now they're all unfu
And glittering in the fun; triumphant entrisk
Of conquerors, and coronation-pomps,
In glory scarce exceed. Great gluts of people (me
Retard th' unwieldy fhow; whilst from the
And houses tops, ranks behind ranks close w
Hang bellying o'er. But tell us, why this wait
Why this ado in earthing up a carcafe
That's fall'n into difgrace, and in the noftril
Smells horrible?Ye undertakers, tell us,
'Midft all the gorgeous figures you exhibit,
Why is the principal conceal'd, for which
You make this mighty ftir.'Tis wifely dan
What would offend the eye in a good picture,
The painter cafts difcreetly into fhades.

Proud lineage, now how little thou appear
Below the envy of the private man.
Honour, that meddlefome officious ill,
Pursues thee ev'n to death; nor there ftops fr
Strange perfecution! when the grave itself
Is no protection from rude fufferance.

Abfurd to think to over-reach the grave, And from the wreck of names to rescue ours The beft concerted fchemes men lay for famt Die faft away: only themselves die faster. The far-fam'd fculptor, and the laurell❜d bard, These bold infurancers of deathlefs fame, Supply their little feeble aids in vain. The tapering pyramid, th' Egyptian's pride, And wonder of the world, whofe fpiky top Has wounded the thick cloud, and long outliv The angry fhaking of the winter's ftorm; Yet fpent at laft by th' injuries of heaven, Shatter'd with age, and furrow'd o'er with yat The mystic cone with hieroglyphics crufted, At once gives way. Oh! lamentable sight: The labour of whole ages lumbers down, A hideous and mif-fhapen length of ruins Sepulchral columns wrestle, but in vain, With all-fubduing time: her cank'ring hand With calm delib'rate malice wafteth them: Worn on the edge of days the brafs confumes, The bufto moulders, and the deep-cut marble, Unfteady to the fleel, give up its charge. Ambition, half convicted of her folly, Hangs down the head, and reddens at the tale.

Here all the mighty troublers of the earth, Who fwam to fov'reign rule through feas of bio Th' oppreffive, sturdy, man-deftroying villas Who ravag'd kingdoms, and laid empires wilt, And in a cruel wantonnefs of power

Thinn'd states of half their people, and gave To want the reft; now, like a ftorm that's ip Lie hufh'd, and meanly fneak behind the covent Vain thought to hide them from the gen'ralis That haunts and doggs them like an injur`d ghn Implacable. Here too the petty tyrant, Whofe fcant domains geographer ne'er notic And, well for neighbouring grounds, of arm asf

VARIATIONS.

179. Why hide the punished, for fake of which,

The lick man's door, and live upon the dead, 160 | 195. Dodder'd with age, &c.

Vho fix'd his iron talons on the poor, And gripp'd them like fome lordly beaft of prey; Deaf to the forceful cries of gnawing hunger, nd piteous plaintive voice of mifery; As if a flave was not a fhred of nature, f the fame common nature with his lord); How tame and humble, like a child that's whipp'd, hakes hands with cust, and calls the worm his kinfman;

Just like a child that brawl'd itself to rest, 280
Lies ftill-What mean'st thou then, O mighty
boafter,
[bull,

To vaunt of nerves of thine? what means the
Unconscious of his ftrength, to play the coward,
And flee before a feeble thing like man;
That, knowing well the flackness of his arm,
Trufts only in the well-invented knife?
With study pale, and midnight vigils spent,

or pleads his rank and birthright. Under ground The ftar-furveying fage close to his eye
recedency's a jeft; vaffil and lord,

231

forofsly familiar, fide by fide confume.

When self-esteem, or others adulation,

Tould cunningly perfuade us we were fomething bove the common level of our kind,

[ry,

240

he grave gainfays the smooth complexion'd flatt'nd with blunt truth acquaints us what we are. Beauty-thou pretty play-thing, dear deceit, What steals fo foftly o'er the stripling's heart, And gives it a new pulfe, unknown before, he grave difcredits thee: thy charms expung'd, hy rofes faded, and thy lilies foil'd, What haft thou more to boast of? Will thy lovers lock round thee now, to gaze and do thee homage?

Methinks I fee thee with thy head low laid,
Whilft furfeited upon thy damask cheek
The high fed worm, in lazy volumes roll'd,
Riots unfear'd,-For this, was all thy caution?
or this, thy painful labours at thy glass?

247

improve thofe charms, and keep them in repair, For which the spoiler thanks thee not. Foul feeder, Coarfe fare and carrion please thee full as well, And leave as keen a relish on the fenfe. Look how the fair one weeps-the conscious tears Stand thick as dew-drops on the bells of flow'rs: Honeft effufion! the fwoll'n heart in vain Works hard to put a glofs on its diftrefs.

260

Strength too-thou furly, and lefs gentle boast
Of thofe that loud laugh at the village ring;
A fit of common fickness pulls thee down
With greater cafe, than e'er thou didst the trippling
That rafhly dar'd thee to th' unequal fight.
What groan was that I heard?-deep groan indeed!
With anguish heavy laden; let me trace it:
From yonder bed it comes, where the ftrong man,
By ftronger arm belabour'd, gafps for breath
Like a hard-hunted beaft. How his great heart
Beats thick his roomy cheft by far too fcant
To give the lungs full play.What now avail
The ftrong-built finewy limbs, and well-fpread
fhoulders?
270

See how he tugs for life, and lays about him,
Mad with his pain!-Eager he catches hold
Of what comes next to hand, and grafps it hard,
Juft like a creature drowning; hideous fight!
Oh! how his eyes stand out, and stare full ghaftly!
While the distemper's rank and deadly venom
Shoots like a burning arrow cross his bowels,
And drinks his marrow up.-Heard you that
groan?

It was his laft.-See how the great Goliah,

240. Net in MS.

VARIATIONS.

Applies the fight-invigorating tube;
And travelling through the boundless length of

space,

Marks well the courfes of the far-feen orbs That roll with regular confufion there,

290

In ecftacy of thought. But ah! proud man,
Great heights are hazardous to the weak head;
Soon, very foon thy firmeft footing fails;
And down thou dropp'ft into that darkfome place,
Where nor device nor knowledge ever came.

Here the tongue-warrior lies difabled now,
Difarm'd, difhonour'd, like a wretch that's gagg'd
And cannot tell his ails to paffers by.
Great man of language,-whence this mighty
change,

This dumb defpair, and drooping of the head?
Though ftrong perfuafion hung upon thy lip,
And fly infinuation's fofter arts

300

311

In ambush lay about thy flowing tongue;
Alas! how chop-fall'n now! Thick mifts and filence
Reft, like a weary cloud, upon thy breaft
Unceafing.Ah! where is the lifted arm,
The ftrength of action, and the force of words,
The well-turn'd period, and the well-tun'd voice,
With all the leffer ornaments of phrase?
Ah! fled for ever, as they ne'er had been,
Raz'd from the book of fame: or, more provoking,
Perchance fome hackney hunger-bitten fcribbler
Infults thy memory, and blots thy tomb
With long flat narrative, or duller rhymes,
With heavy halting pace that drawl along;
Enough to roufe a dead man into rage,
And warm with red refentment the wan cheek.

Here the great masters of the healing-art, 320
Thefe mighty mock defrauders of the tomb,
Spite of their juleps and catholicons,
Refign to fate-Proud Afculapius' fon!
Where are thy boafted implements of art,
And all thy well-cramm'd magazines of health?
Nor hill nor vale, as far as fhip could go,
Nor margin of the gravel-bottom'd brook,
Efcap'd thy rifling hand;-from stubborn fhrubs
Thou wrung'ft their fky-retiring virtues out,
And vex'd them in the fire: nor fly nor infect,
Nor writhy fnake, efcap'd thy deep refear. 331
But why this apparatus? why this coft?
Tell us, thou doughty keeper from the grave,
Where are thy recipes and cordials now,
With the long lift of vouchers for thy cures?
Alas! thou fpeakeft not.-The bold impoftor
Looks not more filly, when the cheat's found out.
Here the lank-fided mifer, worst of felons
Who meanly ftole, (difcreditable shift),
From back, and belly too, their proper cheer, 340
Eas'd of a tax it irk'd the wretch to pay

To his own carcafe; now lies cheaply lodg'd, By clam'rous appetites no longer teas'd, Nor tedious bills of charges and repairs. But ah! where are his rents, his comings-in? Ay! now you've made the rich man poor indeed, Robb'd of his gods, what has he left behind? Oh curfed luft of gold; when for thy fake, 'The fool throws up his int'reft in both worlds: 349 Firft ftarv'd in this, then damn'd in that to come. How fhocking muft thy fummons bè, O death! To him that is at eafe in his poffeffions; Who counting on long years of pleasure here, Is quite unfurnish'd for that world to come? In that dread moment, how the frantic foul Raves round the walls of her clay tenement, Runs to each avenue, and fhrieks for help, But fhrieks in vain !-How wifhfully fhe looks On all the's leaving, now no longer her's! A little longer, yet a little longer, Oh! might the ftay, to wash away her stains, And fit her for her paffage.-Mournful fight! Her very eyes weep blood ;-and every groan She heaves is big with horror.But the foe, Like a staunch murd'rer, fteady to his purpose, Pursues her close through every lane of life, Nor miffes once the track, but preffes on; Till forc'd at laft to the tremendous verge, At once the finks to everlasting ruin.

360

370

Sure 'tis a ferious thing to die! my foul, What a strange moment must it be, when near Thy journey's end, thou haft the gulf in view! That awful gulf, no mortal e'er repafs'd To tell what's doing on the other side. Nature runs back, and fhudders at the fight, And every life-ftring bleeds at thoughts of parting; For part they must: body and foul must part; Fond couple; link'd more clofe than wedded pair. This wings its way to its almighty fource, The witness of its actions, now its judge; That drops into the dark and noisome grave, Like a difabled pitcher of no use.

380

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[wretch

Reel over his full bowl, and, when 'tis drain'd,
Fill up another to the brim, and laugh
At the poor bugbear death:-Then might the
That's weary of the world, and tir'd of life, 392
At once give each inquietude the flip,
By stealing out of being when he pleas'd,
And by what way, whether by hemp or steel;
Death thousand doors ftand open.-Who could
force

The ill pleas'd gueft to fit out his full time,
Or blame him if he goes?-Sure he does well,
That helps himself as timely as he can,
When able.- But if there's an hereafter;
And that there is, confcience, uninfluenc'd

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400

And suffer'd to speak out, tells ev'ry man;
Then must it be an awful thing to die:
More horrid yet to die by one's own hand.
Self-murder!-name it not: our ifland's fant.
That makes her the reproach of neighbouring fun,
Shall nature, fwerving from her earlieft didate
Self-prefervation, fall by her own ad?
Forbid it heaven.-Let not, upon disgust
The shameless hand be fully crimson'd o'er
With blood of its own lord.-Dreadful attemp
Just reeking from felf-flaughter, in a rage
To rush into the prefence of our Judge;
As if we challeng'd him to do his worft,
And matter'd not his wrath!-Unheard-of terr
Must be referv'd for fuch: these herd together,
The common damn'd fhun their fociety,
And look upon themselves as fiends lefs foul
Our time is fix'd, and all our days are number!
How long, how fhort, we know not-ter
know,

Duty requires we calmly wait the fummons,
Nor dare to ftir till Heaven fhall give perm
Like centries that must keep their deftin'd fa
And wait th' appointed hour, till they're relie
Thofe only are the brave that keep their g
And keep it to the last. To run away
Is but a coward's trick: to run away
From this world's ills, that at the very wort
Will foon blow o'er, thinking to mend our
By boldly vent'ring on a world unknown,
And plunging headlong in the dark;—'tis
No frenzy half fo defperate as this.

Tell us, ye dead; will none of you, in py To thofe you left behind, disclofe the fecret! Oh! that fome courteous ghoft would blab it What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be I've heard, that fouls departed, have fometime Forewarn'd men of their death :-Twa ba done

To knock, and give the alarm.— But what m
This ftinted charity?-'Tis but lame kinéas
That does its work by halves.-Why mightyu
Tell us what 'tis to die? do the ftri& laws +
Of your fociety forbid your speaking
Upon a point fo nice?-I'll afk no more:
Sullen, like lamps in fepulchres, your fhine
Enlightens but yourfelves. Well, 'tis no ma
A very little time will clear up all,
And make us learn'd as you are, and as cleft.
Death's fhafts fly thick:-Here falls the v
fwain,

And there his pamper'd lord.-The cup goes
And who fo artful as to put it by !
'Tis long fince death had the majority;

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