Hovers a-while upon the fad remains,
Which now the pile, or fepulchre contains ;
And thence with liberty unbounded flies,
Impatient to regain her native skies.

Whate'er thou art, where-e'er ordain'd to go
(Points which we rather may difpute, than know)
Come on, thou little inmate of this breaft,
Which for thy fake from paffions I divest:

For thefe, thou say'ft, raise all the stormy strife,
Which hinder thy repose, and trouble life.
Be the fair level of thy actions laid,

As temperance wills, and prudence may perfuade:
Be thy affections undisturb'd and clear,
Guided to what may great or good appear;
And try if life be worth the liver's care.
Amass'd in man, there juftly is beheld
What thro' the whole creation has excell'd:
The life and growth of plants, of beafts the fenfe,
The angel's forecaft and intelligence:

Say from thefe glorious feeds what harvest flows:
Recount our bleffings, and compare our woes.
In its true light let clearest reason see
The man dragg'd out to act, and forc'd to be;
Helpless and naked on a woman's knees.
To be expos'd or rear'd as fhe may please;
Feel her neglect, and pine from her disease.
His tender eye by too direct a ray
Wounded, and flying from unpractis'd day;
His heart affaulted by invading air,
And beating fervent to the vital war;

F 3

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Το

To his young sense how various forms appear,
That ftrike his wonder, and excite his fear.
By his diftortions he reveals his pains;
He by his tears, and by his fighs complains;
'Till time and use affift the infant wretch,
By broken words, and rudiments of speech,
His wants in plainer characters to show,
And paint more perfect figures of his woe;
Condemn'd to facrifice his childish years
To babling ignorance, and to empty fears;
To pass the riper period of his
age,
Acting his part upon a crowded stage;
To lafting toils expos'd, and endless cares,
To open dangers, and to fecret fnares;
To malice which the vengeful foe intends,
And the more dangerous love of seeming friends.
His deeds examin'd by the people's will,
Prone to forget the good, and blame the ill:
Or fadly cenfur'd in their curs'd debate,
Who, in the fcorner's, or the judge's feat
Dare to condemn the virtue which they hate.
Or would he rather leave this frantic fcene;
And trees and beafts prefer to courts and men;
In the remoteft wood and lonely grot

Certain to meet that worst of evils, thought;

Different Ideas to his memory brought:

Some intricate, as are the pathlefs woods;
Impetuous fome, as the defcending floods:
With anxious doubts, with raging paffions torn,
No fweet companion near, with whom to mourn;

}

}

He

He hears the echoing rock returns his fighs;
And from himself the frighted hermit flies.

Thus, through what path foe'er of life we rove,
Rage companies our hate, and grief our love:
Vex'd with the prefent moment's heavy gloom,
Why feek we brightness from the years to come?
Difturb'd and broken like a fick man's fleep,
Our troubled thoughts to diftant profpects leap:
Defirous ftill what flies us to o'ertake:

For hope is but the dream of those that wake:
But, looking back, we fee the dreadful train
Of woes, a-new which were we to fuftain,
We should refufe to tread the path again.
Still adding grief, ftill counting from the firft;
Judging the latest evils ftill the worst;
And, fadly finding each progreffive hour

Heighten their number, and augment their power:
"Till, by one countless fum of woes oppreft.
Hoary with cares, and ignorant of reft,

We find the vital springs relax'd and worn:
Compell'd our common impotence to mourn,
Thus, thro' the round of age, to childhood we return;
Reflecting find, that naked from the womb
We yesterday came forth; that in the tomb
Naked again we must to-morrow lie,

Born to lament, to labour, and to die.

Pafs we the ills, which each man feels or dreads, The weight or fallen, or hanging o'er our heads; The bear, the lion, terrors of the plain, The fheepfold fcatter'd, and the shepherd flain;

The frequent errors of the pathlefs wood,
The giddy precipice, and the dangerous flood:
The noisom peftilence, that in open war
Terrible, marches thro' the mid-day air,
And scatters death; the arrow that by night
Cuts the dank mist, and fatal wings its flight;
The billowing fnow, and violence of the shower,
That from the hills difperfe their dreadful store,
And o'er the vales collected ruin pour;

}

The worm that gnaws the ripening fruit, fad gueft,
Canker or locuft hurtful to infest

The blade; while husks elude the tiller's care,
And eminence of want diftinguishes the year.
Pafs we the flow disease, and fubtil pain,
Which our weak frame is destin'd to sustain;
The cruel ftone, with congregated war
Tearing his bloody way? the cold catarrh,
With frequent impulfe, and continu'd ftrife,
Weakening the wafted feats of irksome life;
The gout's fierce rack, the burning fever's rage,
The fad experience of decay; and age,
Herfelf the forest ill; while death, and ease,
Oft and in vain invok'd, or to appeafe,
Or end the grief, with hafty wings recede
From the vext patient, and the fickly bed.
Nought shall it profit, that the charming fair,
Angelic, fofteft work of Heaven, draws near
To the cold fhaking paralytick hand,

Senfelefs of Beauty's touch, or Love's command,

Nor

Nor longer apt, or able to fulfill

The dictates of its feeble master's will.

Nought fhall the pfaltry, and the harp avail,
The pleafing fong, or well repeated tale;
When the quick fpirits their warm march forbear;
And numbing coldness has unbrac'd the ear.

The verdant rifing of the flowery hill,
The vale enamell'd, and the cryftal rill,
The ocean rolling, and the fhelly fhore,
Beautiful objects, fhall delight no more;
When the lax'd finews of the weaken'd eye
In watery damps, or dim fuffufion lie.
Day follows night; the clouds return again
After the falling of the latter rain:
But to the aged-blind shall ne'er return
Grateful viciffitude: he ftill muft mourn
The fun, and moon, and every starry light
Eclips'd to him, and loft in everlasting night.

Behold where Age's wretched victim lies:
See his head trembling, and his half-clos'd eyes:
Frequent for breath his panting bofom heaves:
To broken fleep his remnant fense he gives;
And only by his pains, awaking, finds he lives;
Loos'd by devouring Time the filver cord
Diffever'd lies: unhonour'd from the board
The crystal urn, when broken, is thrown by;
And apter utenfils their place fupply.
These things and thou muft fhare one equal lot;
Die, and be loft, corrupt and be forgot;

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