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Forgot his youth, fpent in his country's caufe,
His care of right, his reverence to the laws:
But could with joy his years of folly trace,
Broken and old in Bathfheba's, embrace;

Could follow him, where-e'er he stray'd from good,
And cite his fad example; whilst I trod

Paths open to deceit, and track'd with blood.

Soon docile to the fecret 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 pursue.
In vain for life he to the altar fled:

Ambition and revenge have certain speed.
Even there, my foul, even there he fhould have fell
But that my intereft did my rage conceal.
Doubling my crime, I promife, and deceive;
Purpose 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 secure,

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 excufe
Fraternal blood by my direction fpilt;
In vain on Joab's head transfer the guilt:
The deed was acted by the fubject's hand;
The fword was pointed by the king's command,

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Mine

Mine was the murder: it was mine alone;
Years of contrition muft the crime atone:
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, Already the reflecting Mufe has trac'd The mournful figures of my action past. The penfive Goddess has already taught, How vain is hope, and how vexatious thought; From growing childhood to declining age, How tedious every step, how gloomy every stage. This course of vanity almost 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 shafts elanc'd in rain,
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 stopp'd, and interrupted breath;
'The utmoft limit of a narrow span,
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 fleeting forms scarce fooner found than loft:
So vanishes our state, so 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.

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Cure of the mifer's with, and coward's fear, Death only fhews us, what we knew was near. 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 wast born. Cautious through doubt; by want of courage, wife, To fuch advice the reafoner ftill replies.

Yet measuring all the long continued space,
Every fucceffive day's repeated race,

Since Time firft ftarted from his pristine goal,
"Till he had reach'd that hour, wherein my foul
Join'd to my body fwell'd the womb; I was,
(At least I think fo) nothing; muft I pafs
Again to nothing, when this vital breath
Ceafing, configns me o'er, to reft, and death?
Muft the whole man, amazing thought! return
To the cold marble, or contracted urn?
And never shall thofe particles agree,
That were in life this individual He?
But fever'd, muft they join the general mafs
Through other forms, and fhapes ordain'd to pass ;
Nor thought nor image kept of what he was?
Does the great word that gave him fenfe, ordain,
That life shall never wake that fense again?
And will no power his finking spirits fave

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From the dark caves of death and chambers of the

grave?

Each

Each evening I behold the setting fun

With down-ward speed into the ocean run:
Yet the fame light (pafs but fome fleeting hours)
Exerts his vigor, and renews his powers;

Starts the bright race again: his conftant flame
Rifes and fets, returning still the fame.
I mark the various fury of the winds;
These neither seasons guide, nor order binds:
They now dilate, and now contract their force:
Various their speed, but endless is their course.
From his first fountain and beginning ouze,
Down to the fea each brook and torrent flows:
Tho' fundry drops or leave, or fwell the ftream;
The whole still runs, with equal pace, the fame.
Still other waves fupply the rifing urns;
And the eternal flood no want of water mourns..
Why then muft man obey the fad decree,
Which fubjects neither fun, nor wind, nor fea?
A flower, that does with opening morn arise,
And flourishing the day, at evening dies;
A winged eaftern blaft, juft skimming o'er
The ocean's brow, and finking on the fhore;
A fire, whofe flames through crackling ftubble fly;
A meteor shooting from the fummer sky;
A bowl a-down the bending mountain roll'd;
A bubble breaking, and a fable told;
A noon-tide fhadow, and a midnight dream;
Are emblems, which with femblance apt proclaim
Our earthly courfe: but, O my foul! fo faft
Muft Life run off: and Death for ever laft?

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This dark opinion, fure, is too confin'd,

Elfe whence this hope, and terror of the mind?
Does fomething ftill, and fomewhere yet remain,
Reward or punishment, delight or pain?

Say: fhall our relicks fecond birth receive?
Sleep we to wake, and only die to live?

When the fad wife has closed her husband's eyes,
And pierc'd the echoing vault with doleful cries;
Lies the pale corps not yet entirely dead?
The fpirit only from the body fled,
The groffer part of heat and motion void,
To be by fire, or worm, or time destroy'd:
The foul, immortal fubftance, to remain,
Confcious of joy, and capable of pain?
And if her a&s have been directed well,
While with her friendly clay fhe deign'd to dwell;
Shall fhe with fafety reach her pristine seat?
Find her reft endless, and her blifs compleat?
And while the buried man we idly mourn;
Do angels joy to fee his better half return?
But if he has deform'd this earthly life
With murderous rapine, and feditious ftrife:
Amazed, repulfed, and by thofe angels driven
From the ethereal feat, and blifsful Heaven,
In everlasting darkness must she lie,
Still more unhappy, that the cannot die?

Amid two feas on one fmall point of land
Weary'd, uncertain, and amaz'd we stand;
On either fide our thoughts inceffant turn:
Forward we dread; and looking back we mourn.

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