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Brutus for absent Portia fighs,
What is loose love? a transient guft,
And burn for ever one;
Productive as the Sun.
What various joys on one attendgr
Whether his hoary fire he spies,
What home-felt raptures move ?
With rev’rence, hope, and love.
Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine :
Sacred Hymen! these are thine.
ODE ON SOLITUDE.
Appy the man whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground;
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks fupply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.
Blest, who can unconcern’dly find,
Hours, days and years slide soft away, In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,
Together mixt; sweet recreation;
The Dying Christian to his Soul.
V ITAL spark of heav'nly flame! '
V Quit, oh quit this mortal frame : Trembling, hoping, ling’ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy ftrife, And let me languish into life.
With sounds seraphic ring :
O Death! where is thy Sting?