Muft with the mother leave the weeping fon, Mofes beheld that God; but how beheld? 420 425 Nor staying longer than one swift-wing'd night. The following days, and months, and years, decreed His youth with wants and hardships must engage ; Some Corah ftill arofe, fome rebel slave, 430 That what the Godhead wrote, the Prophet broke. In camps, in arms, in pilgrimage, he liv'd; And dy'd obedient to feverest law, Forbid to tread the promis'd land he faw. My Father's life was one long line of care, 440 Forlorn Forlorn he muft and perfecuted fly, Climb the fteep mountain, in the cavern lie; 445 For ever, from his manly toil, are known The weight of power, and anguish of a crown. What tongue can speak the restless Monarch's woes; When God and Nathan were declar'd his foes? When every object his offence revil'd, The husband murder'd, and the wife defil'd, Gave famine, plague, or war; and bid him fix his choice? He dy'd; and, oh! may no reflection shed Its poisonous venom on the royal dead ! 460 Yet the unwilling truth must be exprefs'd, Which long has labour'd in this penfive breast: He made me to his crimes undoubted heir; Left his unfinish'd murder to his fon, 465 And Joab's blood entail'd on Judah's crown. The cruel dictates of my parent's will. Of his fair deeds a diftant view I took; N 3 470 But But could with joy his years of folly trace, Broken and old in Bathfheba's embrace; Could follow him, where-e'er he ftray'd from good, And cite his fad example; whilst I trod Paths open to deceit, and track'd with blood. With fmiles I could betray, with temper kill; Ambition and revenge have certain speed. Ev'n there, my foul, ev'n there he should have fell; But that my interest did my rage conceal. Doubling my crime, I promife, and deceive; Purpofe to flay, whilft fwearing to forgive. Treaties, perfuafions, fighs, and tears, are vain : In folemn ftate to parricide I rife; And, as God lives, this day my Brother dies. 480 485 490 495 The sword was pointed by the King's command.. 500 Years of contrition muft the crime atone; Nor Nor can my guilty foul expect relief, But from a long fincerity of grief. With an imperfect hand, and trembling heart, Her love of truth fuperior to her art, 505 Already the reflecting Mufe has trac'd How vain is Hope, and how vexatious Thought; 510. How tedious every step, how gloomy every stage. Tir'd in the field of Life, I hope retreat In the ftill fhades of Death: for dread and pain, Yet tell me, frighted Reafon! what is Death? 515 520 And end of motion which with Life began. Cure of the Mifer's with, and Coward's fear, N 4 530 With With courage therefore view the pointed hour; 535 wife, 540 foul Yet measuring all the long-continued fpace, my Again to nothing, when this vital breath, 545 That were in life this individual He? But, fever'd, muft they join the general mass, 550 And will no power his finking fpirits fave 555 From the dark caves of death, and chambers of the grave? Each evening I behold the fetting fun With downward speed into the ocean run: Yet the fame light (pafs but fome fleeting hours) 560 Starts |