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Muft with the mother leave the weeping fon,
In want to wander, and in wilds to groan;
Muft take his other child, his age's hope,
To trembling Moriam's melancholy top,
Order'd to drench his knife in filial blood,
Destroy his heir, or disobey his God.

Mofes beheld that God; but how beheld?
The Deity in radiant beams conceal'd,
And clouded in a deep abyfs of light;
While prefent, too fevere for human fight,

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Nor staying longer than one swift-wing'd night.

The following days, and months, and years, decreed
To fierce encounter, and to toilfome deed.

His youth with wants and hardships must engage ;
Plots and rebellions muft difturb his age:

Some Corah ftill arofe, fome rebel slave,
Prompter to fink the ftate, than he to fave:
And Ifrael did his rage fo far provoke,

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That what the Godhead wrote, the Prophet broke.
His voice fcarce heard, his dictate fcarce believ'd. 435

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,
A fcene of danger, and a state of war.
Alarm'd, expos'd, his childhood must engage
The Bear's rough gripe, and foaming Lion's rage.
By various turns hs threaten'd youth must fear
Goliah's lifted fword, and Saul's emitted fpear.

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Forlorn

Forlorn he muft and perfecuted fly,

Climb the fteep mountain, in the cavern lie;
And often afk, and be refus'd, to die.

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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,
The parent's fins imprefs'd upon the dying child?
What heart can think the grief which he fuftain'd 455
When the King's crime brought vengeance on the land;
And the inexorable Prophet's voice

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 !

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Yet the unwilling truth must be exprefs'd,

Which long has labour'd in this penfive breast:
Dying, he added to my weight of care;

He made me to his crimes undoubted heir;

Left his unfinish'd murder to his fon,

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And Joab's blood entail'd on Judah's crown.
Young as I was, I hasted to fulfil

The cruel dictates of my parent's will.

Of his fair deeds a diftant view I took;
But turn'd the tube, upon his faults to look ;
Forgot his youth, fpent in his country's cause,
His care of right, his reverence to the laws :

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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.
Soon docile to the secret acts of ill,

With fmiles I could betray, with temper kill;
Soon in a brother could a rival view,
Watch all his acts, and all his ways purfue.
In vain for life he to the altar fled :

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 :
With a mean lye curs'd vengeance I sustain ;
Join fraud to force, and policy to power;
Till, of the deftin'd fugitive fecure,

In folemn ftate to parricide I rife;

And, as God lives, this day my Brother dies.
Be witnefs to my tears, celeftial Mufe!
In vain I would forget, in vain excuse,
Fraternal blood by my direction fpilt;
In vain on Joab's head transfer the guilt:
The deed was acted by the subject's hand ;

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The sword was pointed by the King's command..
Mine was the murder; it was mine alone :

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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,

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Already the reflecting Mufe has trac'd
The mournful figures of my actions paft.
The penfive Goddefs has already taught,

How vain is Hope, and how vexatious Thought;
From growing childhood to declining age,

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How tedious every step, how gloomy every stage.
This courfe of vanity almoft compleat,

Tir'd in the field of Life, I hope retreat

In the ftill fhades of Death: for dread and pain,
And griefs, will find their fhafts clanc'd in vain,
And their points broke, retorted from the head,
Safe in the grave, and free among the dead.

Yet tell me, frighted Reafon! what is Death?
Blood only flopp'd, and interrupted breath;
The utmost limit of a narrow fpan,

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And end of motion which with Life began.
As fmoke that rifes from the kindling fires
Is feen this moment, and the next expires;
As empty clouds by rifing winds are toft,
Their filceting forms fcarce fooner found than loft; 525
So vanishes our ftate, fo pafs our days;
So Life but opens now, and now decays:
The cradle and the tomb, alas! fo nigh;
To live, is fcarce diftinguifh'd from to die.

Cure of the Mifer's with, and Coward's fear,
Death only fhews us, what we knew was near.

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With

With courage therefore view the pointed hour;
Dread not Death's anger; but expect his power;
Nor Nature's law with fruitlefs forrow mourn;
But die, O mortal man! for thou waft born.
Cautious through doubt, by want of courage
To fuch advice the Reafoner ftill replies.

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wife,

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foul

Yet measuring all the long-continued fpace,
Every fucceffive day's repeated race,
Since Time firft started from his priftine goal,
Till he had reach'd that hour wherein
Join'd to my body fwell'd the womb; I was,
(At least I think fo) nothing: must I pass

my

Again to nothing, when this vital breath,
Ceafing, configns me o'er to rest and death?
Muft the whole man, amazing thought! return
To the cold marble, or contracted urn?
And never fhall thofe particles agree,

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That were in life this individual He?

But, fever'd, muft they join the general mass,
Through other forms and shapes ordain'd to pafs;
Nor thought nor image kept of what he was?
Does the great word, that gave him fenfe, ordain,
That life fhall never wake that fenfe again?

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And will no power his finking fpirits fave

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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)
Exerts his vigour, and renews his powers;

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Starts

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